


The Halocline

by betweentowns



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Related Fandoms - All Media Types, Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan, The Heroes of Olympus - Rick Riordan
Genre: Also some Royal sex, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Aspiring Author Annabeth, Complete, F/M, Love Pentagons, M/M, Modern Royalty, Multi, Prince Percy, Smut, There will be death, everyone's ooc
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-19
Updated: 2020-01-12
Packaged: 2020-07-08 10:06:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 26
Words: 38,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19867810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/betweentowns/pseuds/betweentowns
Summary: The one in which everyone who falls in love with Prince Perseus is trapped in the palace forever. (The Royalty AU no one asked for.) COMPLETE!





	1. A Princely Prologue

In the Great Hall, at Olympus Palace, there are twenty-one ostentatiously decorated Christmas trees—one for each year Prince Perseus has been alive.

Ten each line the two longest walls parallel from each other, and one, the biggest, stands proudly in the center of the Great Hall. It’s wrapped deliberately in silver and purple garlands that are coated in delicate white lights and paired with matching ornaments that seem simple from afar, but up close, are everything but. At close look, it’s clear that the ornaments have stories etched into them, likenesses of an elegant young boy with a regal smile.

The tree is so noteworthy that hardly any of the party guests even notice the other twenty trees standing just as tall and lovely.

By the time they do, though, it’s usually too late.

By then, they’re already convinced that the one in the center is the most beautiful, the most worthy of their admiration, no matter the fact that the other trees are just as well-decorated.

The tree is second in its magnificence only to the party’s actual center of attention. 

Prince Perseus Jackson turned twenty-one years old at approximately noon on Christmas Eve morning, the same way he had turned twenty the year before this, and nineteen the year before that. This year is only different because it is the year the king, Prince Perseus’s father, has decided he will step aside from the throne and name his firstborn son the next king of Olympus.

He is the most brilliant Christmas tree in the Great Hall as he strides throughout, capturing every eye and heart and mind. The party, made up of hundreds of the country’s richest and smartest and most beautiful and influential, is enamored by every step he takes, and when it becomes clear that their charming prince is absolutely aware of this, they seem to fall even deeper. No one recoils. No one feels condescended too.

This, it seems, is the magic of Olympus’ beloved son.

The other trees vie quietly for the light, but it shines brightest on him. His hair, combed back and parted behind his ears, falls in regal waves nearly to broad straight shoulders. A dark strand that keeps finding its way into his eyes hangs so naturally that it could only have been put there by a careful stylist’s design. To put it shortly, the prince is as stunning and well-designed as any Spruce in the room. The long version--this young man is so handsome that even without the money, the flatteringly tailored clothing and hair stylists, he’d still be impressive.

There are two stories about this handsome prince.

The first is a fairytale. Magic and betrayal and true love and curses make a story so grand, so fitting for Prince Charming, that no one actually believes it, not really.

The thing about legends is that there’s always a really good story surrounding them and no one has to believe it. It just has to exist.

And when you’re lucky, you can become a legend pretty young, as in, before, even, you turn twenty-one.

This is the second story. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It was 1am and I couldn't sleep and suddenly I had like 30k words of a Royalty AU. I'll be posting pretty frequently!! (A huge AU liberty--I moved Percy's birthday from summertime to Christmastime. I know. I'm sorry)  
> Lots of love,  
> Betweentowns <3


	2. Head of a Circle

It’s really kind of sad that Calypso is going to kill Percy.

_ He’s not  _ that _ bad, _ she thinks to herself. Even though there’s a tiny pimple sprouting on the corner of his pretty lips. She changes her mind, though, when he opens his pretty mouth and says, “Cal, don’t be upset.”

As if telling her not to be upset would somehow make her not upset. “I’m already upset,” Calypso replies.

The prince looks to the other two boys for help. The four of them are sitting at a round table. Somehow, Percy is seated at the head of it, even though there really is no head of a circle. Princes make their own spots though, even subconsciously. Percy nudges his younger brother. “Tyson?”

Prince Tyson looks up from his menu. “Don’t be upset, Cal,” he echoes. “Should I have salmon... Or cod?”

“Fish for breakfast?” Nico asks. He’s as much a brother to Percy as Tyson is, sans the blood. He cares even less about Calypso’s predicaments than Tyson does, though, and has never been polite enough to pretend otherwise.

Percy sighs at the same time Calypso does.  _ Yes _ , she decides.  _ I have to kill him. _ Out loud, she says,

“I’m going to kill you.” It’s better at least if she gives him some warning.

He ignores her and waves over a handmaid to their little table on the balcony. From this spot, outside of Percy’s bedroom, they can see Olympus Palace’s entire courtyard. The area bustles with activity. Everyone is striding purposefully in the January sun like wherever they’re headed, it’s more important a destination than anyone else’s. Calypso supposes this is a side effect of living in a palace, though she can’t be sure; It’s been a while since she’s been anywhere else.

She’s had a long time to get used to everything this place is, but it’s still hard to believe that this will all belong to Percy-- _ their  _ Percy--one day. Harder still, to wrap her head around “one day” drawing closer and closer.

“I think I’ll have cod  _ and _ salmon,” Tyson tells the girl. “Also, chocolate-chip pancakes. Ugh, I’m starving.” Tyson was always starving. If his twin, Estelle, had been here, she’d probably have been able to convince him to drop one type of fish, but the princess was in Paris.

Calypso glances at her own menu, but she’s just going through the motions. When you were with Princes Perceus and Tyson, you could order anything you wanted. At any rate, neither salmon  _ nor _ cod was on the breakfast menu this morning. She knows that Percy himself will order from the menu, though, because he always does. She easily picks out three things on the menu that he’s probably considering, and she isn’t surprised when he orders the first thing on her mental list.

It’s funny how she never really noticed him until he was no longer hers to notice.

Calypso and Nico order, too, and the maid takes their menus and disappears.

Percy takes out his phone and scrolls for a moment. “Her name’s Annabeth. You’re almost exactly the same age and I’m sure she’s darling. Who knows? Perhaps you’ll get along just fine.”

Nico raises his hand. “I know. Calypso doesn’t get along with anybody.”

This is--annoyingly--almost exactly what Calypso had been planning on saying herself. She takes another route. “I don’t need you to set up playdates for me,” she huffs, at the same time, Tyson snorts “darling,” into his orange juice. And then she fixes a long glare at Nico and waits patiently to see if he’ll recoil.

Calypso can do time. She’s got nothing but it.

Nico is--annoyingly-- probably the only person in the world who has just as much. He doesn’t flinch. Calypso still doesn’t back down. Her face can be real nasty, real menacing when she needs it to be. The glares she reserves for Nico are generally some of her best.

Percy, peacekeeper by birthright, tuts just once, a low thing in the back of his throat, and everyone reverts at once to the shinier, more presentable versions of themselves. Which is to say, the more forgiving versions. Which is to say, not like Calypso at all.

He continues, “It isn’t a playdate. She needs a friend who knows a lot about the inner workings of the palace. Think about it, Cal?”

Calypso does--the thinly veiled compliment doing its job. He’s trying to say he thinks she’s smarter than Nico, and that is something she can’t resist, not from Percy.

Besides, maybe it was time she made some new friends. Her current ones all clearly seemed to have some problem with her lately, which wasn’t a new development, but in the past year had somehow become a more menacing one. Or maybe she just needed a friendship that was a little less all-encompassing. The ones she had now made her breathing a little tougher, when she was with them  _ and _ without them.

She belonged to them as much as she belonged to this palace, which is to say, completely and unwillingly.

She huffs again. “I’ll think about it.”

In between pouting his perfect (except for that damn pimple) lips at her, Percy discusses some peace treaty with Tyson while they eat their breakfast, but Calypso is silent and so is Nico.

Mostly because Nico is just a quiet guy, and because Calypso knows the importance of not talking with food in your mouth as well as she knows how unimportant it is to discuss peace treaties before noon.

Nico knows how to notice Percy, too, but he is better at it than Calypso. They--Percy and Nico--have found their balance, and it’s much less precarious than hers and Percy’s. Boys. It’s hard to imagine Nico, already so airy, without Percy, but she supposes that Percy would be slightly off without his sullen shadow, too. He’s mastered this balance so well that Percy continues to keep him at his side, tell him everything.

When Calypso had first met Nico , she had not-so-secretly thought he wouldn’t last long in their group--an already perfect set of friends that balanced each other out and fit together like puzzle pieces. But it was obvious that he loved Percy, their Percy, and the more time he spent with them, it was clear that he would last, and it was because he didn’t quite fit. If Calypso, Tyson, and his twin, Estelle, were the puzzle pieces, Nico was the box that you stored the puzzle in so you wouldn’t lose it.

Calypso glances at Percy. His head is bent, inky eyelashes casting shadows so subtly over his high cheekbones that you’d only see them if you knew how to look. She knew. Percy is the picture you refer to to build the puzzle in the first place.

“Fine,” Calypso snaps the next time Percy gives her those pouty sea-glass eyes, partly because if he looks at her like that again she thinks she might cry, and partly because she was going to agree, anyway. Even if he wasn’t the crown prince of Olympus, even if Cal wasn’t grudgingly in love with him, Perseus Jackson would be a hard boy to say no to. “What’s the job description?”

Percy gives her his best ear-to-ear, the one he still saves for her after all this time, and Calypso thinks that if he asks her she has to jump off this balcony, right now, she might. Maybe. “Not a job. A favor, to me, and thank you, really. All you have to do is introduce her to Olympus. Show her around a little. Maybe give her some tips for being a lady of the Court?”

“When does she get here?”

Percy frowns at the gold watch weighing down his dainty wrist. He coughs around a large piece of waffle, and the guards at the balcony doors all tense. Calypso wants to roll her eyes at them--the most important person in the world is not going to die choking on butter and syrup, and if he did, well, good riddance, right?

There’s a tiny piece of butter next to his tiny pimple now. Calypso’s torn between wanting to wipe it off with her finger--and then maybe run that same finger over the curve of his lips; they are so pretty--and wanting to throw up.

“It’s very possible that she’s already been here for ten minutes.” As an afterthought, he adds, “Oops.”

An indifferent-faced guard pulls the door open as she stands. In Calypso’s defense, she doesn’t scream, or cry, or tug out any pieces of her hair. She’s the picture of elegance as she leaves the table.

“You have food on your face,” she pushes through her teeth, then curtseys to Percy, then Tyson, because they’re princes and she is always a lady first. She considers flipping Nico off, just for the fun of it, because she knows Nico will argue with Percy over it later. She doesn’t. Calypso Lenoxx-Hayes is a Lady.

“Thank you!” Percy calls as a guard opens the door for her.

“Have fun,  _ darling _ ,” Tyson adds.

Yeah, she’s absolutely going to kill Percy.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 1!!! YAY--I am so excited for y'all to read this and am editing as fast as I can.  
> Lots of love,  
> Betweentowns <3


	3. 8:32

It’s 8:29 a.m.

Annabeth looks down at her thin gold wristwatch. It’s small, but flashy in its own right. She’d bought it with the money from her first real paycheck. The watch had cost a lot, too much, for such a small, plain, piece of jewelry, but Annabeth is a member of Olympus Court starting today, and among many things, that means she must be small--but flashy in her own right.

Olympus Palace is only slightly less magnificent on a Monday morning than it had been when Annabeth had attended the Christmas Eve/Birthday Celebration gala just last week. It’s eerie, even with all the natural light shining from a wall of windows thrice Annabeth’s height. Perhaps it’s just the lack of holiday decorations that have made the castle seem so barren. After all, it’s only Annabeth’s second-ever visit to the palace.

If she ignored the impossibly high ceilings, the palace foyer is almost a hotel lobby--a ritzy hotel with real-gold detailing. The bellboys move around in decorated soldier uniforms, checking guests in after lengthy identification and security processes.

In Annabeth’s other hand (the one not wearing the watch) is her phone. She unlocks it, opens her email for the third time. 8:00--that’s the time the forwarded email states she was to arrive at the castle. She’s nothing if not punctual, so she had gotten there half an hour early. She was checked in by one of the more annoyed-looking bellboys--though it was hard to tell, the guards here seemed prone to detachment--and shown to a chair. All her luggage, including the little blue designer purse (also purchased with the same paycheck) she has strapped to a suitcase, is taken to her room. A room she has yet to be taken to.

All she has now is her phone, and a freshly printed lanyard that tells the world that she is ANNABETH CHASE, and that she is a GUEST.

It’s 8:30, now.

Three girls walk by. Annabeth’s only seen them once, at the Christmas/Birthday party last week, but she can identify them each by name. She’s getting paid now to know this sort of information, after all, and she’s always taken her studies seriously. Three daughters of a knight of close relation to the queen consort. They’re all wearing heels as they cross the marble floor, and yet the only sound as they walk by is quiet giggling. Annabeth’s steps were loud as she walked the steps--27, she had counted--to her small plush chair.

The nobility, it seems, move in silence.

That’d be a good line.  _ The wealthy move in silence, unless, of course, they want to be heard. _ Annabeth turns on her phone again, opens the notes app, then stops. Is that too subjective, now that she is a nonfiction writer? She types it anyway, then puts her phone back in her lap. She checks her watch again.

“It’s 8:32,” a voice says above her. The voice belongs to another high-heeled girl but this one is very, very pretty. Almost unnaturally so. The kind of attractive that can only come from being born into money, and heaps of it.

“Annabeth, right?”

Annabeth stands up. She’s not short but this girl towers over her, supermodel-style. “Right,” she agrees.

She looks Annabeth up and down, mostly down. Once she’s content with what she sees, she says, “Calypso.”

“What?”

“Calypso. My name?” Annabeth, of course, already knows all about Calypso Lenoxx-Hayes--the only daughter of the king’s most trusted advisor and military general, betrothed to Prince Perseus since birth (at least, until very recently.)

In pictures, she’s much nicer-looking than she is in real life, standing in front of Annabeth, or maybe it’s just the look she’s giving Annabeth now.

“You’re the one writing the prince’s biography, right?”

_ It’s not  _ just _ a biography _ , Annabeth wants to say. It’s going to be a perfectly-crafted nonfiction piece about the history of Olympus’s monarchy, focused specifically on the intimate details of Olympus palace and Prince Perseus’s contemporary life leading up to his coronation as king next year.

Instead, she says, “Right.”

“Well, lucky for you, I know him.” Then Calypso turns on her heel--the red shoes don’t make a sound--and makes for the grand staircase.

Annabeth follows. She’s clearly meant to. The floor switches from white tile to flagstone, which is less pretty, but also makes less noise on her feet and looks less like it would be cold to the touch. The purple and silver colors of the Olympus flag are everywhere, infused so subtly into every aspect of the architecture that it’s anything but subtle. The lingering effect is a place that seems so old, so full of history, but Annabeth knows it can’t be--Olympus itself is barely coming on one hundred years.

At the top of the staircase is a row of elevators. The lights glow behind the painted glass numbers as the two girls ascend, all the way up to 15.

_ Five, six, seven, eight. _

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Annabeth's here!  
> I am absolutely shocked at how quickly I am churning these out. Hope you're enjoying so far.   
> Lots of love,  
> Betweentowns <3


	4. Pining

There’s little that Nico doesn’t like about Percy, and lately, the way the prince has been acting when Calypso around is one of them.

The minute she leaves breakfast, all the boys sigh. Not that that is new; Calypso has always been a lot to handle.

But there was a time when that was the  _ reason _ they had liked her—Percy, especially. They had all stopped liking her, now, for the most part, but it was, for the most part, not a big deal — after all, they  _ loved  _ Calypso, if only because she had loved them back, too. Friendships and time are funny things, really, making you love the type of people you’d normally find easy to hate. Nico, for one, had never even  _ liked  _ Calypso.

The minute she leaves they’re just boys. Percy drops his “feel-bad-for-me” act and Tyson eats his fish without judgment. The two of them are talking about politics. Percy is always talking about politics.

Once they finish their breakfast and stand to leave the balcony, Percy switches the subject. When he isn’t talking about politics, he’s talking about Calypso. “Do you think Cal will like this girl? Annabeth Whatever?” His tone is worried. “I feel like she needs a new friend right now, you know? Someone… removed from the situation.”

Nico sighs. Percy and his obsessive saviour complex, reserved specifically for the people he loves. As if a young king-to-be didn’t have enough to worry about. 

“Maybe if you guys got back together, she wouldn’t need anything at all,” Tyson suggests innocently. “Just saying.”

His brother frowns, and Nico almost says something to ease his guilt, but keeps his lips pursed. It’s true; Calypso’s always been a pain in the ass, but she’s never been worse than she is now. Nico is the last person who wants Percy and Calypso back together, but no one in this castle needs any extra drama right now. Not this year.

“Forget it,” the prince orders, so they do. They have to pass back through his room, and it’s evident that a maid has come and made his bed while they were eating. The sunlight from the balcony casts strips of light against the pale blue walls, pristine wood-paneled floors and ceilings, the polaroid picture of Calypso and Tyson’s twin sister Estelle sticking their tongues out at the camera, eyes closed against its flash, pinned beside the gold plated mirror.

There’s a stack of folders sitting haphazardly next to the still-open laptop on the bedside table, things that the maid wouldn’t dare touch, and it’s just too easy to imagine Percy in his pajamas earlier this morning, sitting up in bed and signing papers, reading his daily briefing emails. Or maybe it was a lazy morning, and the papers had been discarded quickly, in favor of watching music videos. Nico can remember the day Percy got that polaroid picture with a postcard from Paris in the mail, remember the shit-eating grin Percy had given to that silly picture--the type he’d never, ever give to Nico, remember the day the girls had found it on Percy’s dresser and pasted it permanently to the wall. For twenty-one years Nico has known this room like the back of his hand. 

It’s the only room in the entire world.

And  _ Calypso  _ thinks she knows about pining.

Calypso doesn’t know anything about pining.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nico, my baby.   
> I know these chapters are on the shorter side, but they'll be getting longer soon : )  
> Lots of love,  
> Betweentowns <3


	5. NOT Lady Annabeth

Annabeth’s guard’s name is Jason Grace. He’s nearly her own age, maybe younger, but abnormally tall. He’s standing tree-still at the door to her new room in the hotel-like part of the castle, a young and stoic Superman, and stays that way until she and Calypso are four feet away before introducing himself.

“But why would I need a guard?” Annabeth asks.

“It minimizes the paperwork in case somebody tries to slit your throat on the way to lunch.”

Jason Grace the Guard ignores Calypso politely and says warmly, “I’m more here to help your transition into the castle than anything else. Danger at the castle is almost nonexistent.” 

A textbook response. He pulls the door open and gestures for the girls to enter.

Calypso pushes aside some pillows and lies down on the plush bed--Annabeth’s bed. At its foot is a silver basket filled with an assortment of items. “Here,” Calypso says, handing Annabeth what might be the thickest piece of paper she’s ever seen.  _ Welcome to Olympus Palace, Annabeth Chase  _ it reads.

Annabeth flips it over in her hand once. And then again. Her new neighbors are visiting politicians and celebrities, dignitaries from across the world and scholars. She’s really  _ here _ , in the palace, about to begin perhaps the most important piece she will ever write. 

“So, here’s the deal,” Calypso says. “ I have an ‘I’m-perfectly-capable-of keeping-a-friend’ quota to be filling right now.”

“Oh,” Annabeth says. “Um, crazy parents?”

“Yes, and no. Overprotective ex-boyfriend. Anyway, you seem alright, so this could be worse, right?”

“Right?” Annabeth says. She looks from the bed, where Calypso is kicking of her heels to reveal toenails painted a perfect coffee-brown, to Jason, who is back to doing his tree impersonation at the open door, to the tiny white couch in the corner of the room. She takes a seat next to Calypso’s feet. “Your ex-boyfriend is the prince, right?”

“Right.” Calypso echoes. She sits up in the bed, eyes narrowed. “I forgot you’re a reporter.” She leans in conspiratorially. “I can trust you, right?”

“Right,” Annabeth says, annoyed now. She’s not a  _ reporter. _

Calypso laughs, “You’re funny. Maybe we  _ can _ be friends.”

There’s only one word Annabeth can think to say to this, so she stays quiet. Calypso lies back on the bed and begins to talk to the ceiling. “If we’re gonna be friends, you can call me Cal. All my friends call me Cal.” She pauses as footsteps pass outside the door. “Lie down next to me,” she orders suddenly. 

Annabeth scrambles to rest her own blonde head against the pillows--they feel as soft as they look-- and Calypso intertwines their arms together. “I don’t have that many friends, you know? Just Percy, really. His siblings. And Luke.”

Annabeth’s eyes widen. “Luke?”

“Castellan. The king of --”

“France. I know. Wow. You know him?”

Calypso smiles at the ceiling. “Yes. And even though most famous people  _ are _ as cool as you’d probably think, Luke is genuinely the most amazing person ever.” She sighs. “If only I could’ve fallen in love with  _ him.” _

“But instead you fell in love with Prince Perseus?”

“Exactly. And it ruined my life, you know? I didn’t  _ ask  _ for all this.  _ He  _ cursed  _ me.  _ But everyone around here calls  _ me  _ bitter, and  _ I’m  _ the crazy one,  _ I’m  _ the bad guy.” All because of one man. That’s what men do to you. Always in the wrong, but it’s never a man whose reputation is ruined on the other side of a relationship. No, because it’s  _ me  _ who’s stuck here forever.”

“Forever?”

“Forever,” Calypso reaffirms. “Do you have a boyfriend, back home?”

Annabeth accepts the change in the conversation’s tone with ease. “ Nope. So, what, you’re really cursed? The fall in love with the prince and be trapped forever thing is real?”

“Yup… Don’t believe me?”

It’s not that Annabeth didn’t believe in magic. Because honestly, she did, if only because she wanted to. She used to get paid to write articles, she traded in facts. Every morning newspaper the past couple of years features a new article about some mage performing some miracle. Even more recently still, she’s watched speech upon speech of Prince Perseus advocating for mage rights, urging voters to stand with magical communities.

But the idea of this curse--that all of Prince Perseus’ lovers were fated to be trapped in the palace forever, seemed  _ too _ fanciful _ ,  _ even for a royal scandal.

“No, I believe you. It’s just, how does that all work? Are you the only one?”

“No, but there’s not  _ that  _ many. Which is good, considering we all have to live here. Of course, I’m sure there’s more I probably don’t know about. It’s all very hush-hush. There was this  _ one  _ girl a couple of years ago.” Calypso pauses, shudders lightly. “ _ That  _ ended badly, but we don’t talk about it. Oh, here’s a scandal--the head of his father's advisors, Lady Reyna! She’s like, 40. And even though Percy denied all of it, it was  _ huge.  _ Because, I mean, how do you fall--” She’s silent again as more footsteps tap by.

“How do you fall in love with someone who you’ve never had some type of intimate relationship with? Actually, never mind, because then there’s Nico… I think… I mean, Percy has never said anything, but that’s just Percy—friend till the end. But I’ve never seen  _ him  _ leave the castle. Or maybe he’s just antisocial. And then me, I guess. What is that… Four?”

Annabeth can’t help but catalog the information. It’s innate, her tendency to retain and analyze everything she hears--it doesn’t help that she’s literally here to learn as much about the prince as is humanly possible. She’s wondering if it would be rude to pull out her phone and start typing when Jason Grace raps slightly on the door. “My ladies?”

“Come in!” Calypso calls before Annabeth can, (or object to being called Jason’s  _ lady _ ) and the girls sit up.

She assumes it’s Jason who pushes the door wider, because it’s his voice that announces, “Their highnesses Prince Perseus and Prince Tyson of Olympus,” and it’s his uniform-cuffed arm that presses against the wood.

But neither of the boys in the doorway is Jason.

The second boy is huge — it’s the only word for him really. Loose muscle packs into a stature that towers over the other boy, unruly brown curls only heightened him. He wears an easy smile, the perfect rows of white teeth complimenting smooth, tanned skin. Annabeth knows him, the same way people feel like they know any celebrity. He’s a prince, after all—she’s grown up hearing stories about the twins, grown up watching Prince Tyson and Princess Estelle all over her TVs and phones.

The boy in front, the one who’s closer to “man” than “boy,” the one who the other boy fell back to flank, the one who looks so perfectly natural and  _ right  _ merely strolling through a door-- Annabeth would recognize  _ him  _ anywhere. He’s so different from the crown prince in pictures, different from the prince she met at Christmas.

Her brain struggles to reconcile that the most accurate version of him is standing in front of her right now. Not the dream she’d seen weeks ago.

Today, Prince Perseus is less of a dream. There’s still the abnormally clean, groomed look, but he’s just a person. His bottom front teeth overlap just slightly, and there’s a pimple sprouting on a closely shaved jaw. The pouty lips that had made him look regal and cunning and enticing when he was smiling under all the lights on Christmas leave his face twisted in an endearing but odd half-grimace. He looks--young. Annabeth’s age.

Still a prince, yes.

But one so obviously human it’s alien-like.

“Morning, ladies,” Prince Tyson says, pushing himself deeper into the room. He peers around the small space. It’s easily the nicest bedroom Annabeth’s ever been in, and yet this prince’s curious gaze makes her feel embarrassed.

“Cal. Lady Annabeth,” Prince Perseus says, in the same tone that normal people use to say ‘hello.’

“What are you guys doing here?” Calypso asks crudely. Annabeth almost sighs in relief. She didn’t like the way Calypso had stiffened then half-smiled before stiffening again when Prince Perseus had begun to talk. From the little she knew about her, Calypso wasn’t stiff. And now that she had revealed her woes of womanhood, Annabeth couldn’t sit blind. They were allies against the men in the room.

“There was a moment to spare so I thought we’d formally introduce ourselves to Lady Annabeth.” He pauses for a moment. “Though I believe we were already introduced--on my birthday?”

Annabeth’s surprises he remembers. There had been at least a hundred others in line to meet the prince on the Christmas Eve ball, an event her publishing company had scored her an invite to last minute, all of them being careened in. Admittedly, his eyes were watchful, and no parts of him gave the impression that he was one to forget a name, or a face, or anything at all, but still.

There’s another awkward pause in which Annabeth slides her way ungracefully off the bed. The back of her perfect first-day-in-the-castle dress is wrinkled, her complimentary heels discarded somewhere behind the door.

She folds her legs into one of the curtsies she’d practiced last night in her mirror at home. “It’s nice to meet you, Your Highness,” she whispers. Anything warmer would feel like something of an insult to Calypso, but anything colder feels like some kind of treason to the sovereign in front of her.

“Ugh,” Calypso scoffs, following Annabeth off the bed. “He’s  _ lying.  _ And you don’t have to curtsy. _ ” _

Prince Perseus frowns and opens his mouth before he’s interrupted by his brother. “He  _ is _ lying. His exact words were ‘let’s go make sure Calypso is being nice.’” Prince Tyson walks towards the silver  _ Welcome ANNABETH CHASE  _ basket and pulls out a chocolate bar. “Can I have this?”

“Sure,” Annabeth tells him, relieved to focus her attention on the least intimidating person in the room right now.

“I was just checking on you,” Prince Perseus tells Calypso appeasingly, as if that solved everything. He shoots a betrayed glance at the prince pulling open the chocolate bar wrapper, to which Prince Tyson pointedly ignores. “Besides, I wanted to meet Lady Annabeth. She’s writing a biography about me, after all. I heard you’re a brilliant writer. But …  _ Is  _ she being nice?” This is obviously meant to be a joke, and yet there’s something meaningful behind the words.

At this, Annabeth finally meets his eyes. They’re a cool green, a pleasant surprise each time he blinks and she gets to see them again. He looks back at her for a second, scanning her gaze like he’s looking for something. Then his face relaxes. Clearly, whatever he’s looking for, he didn’t find. Though something in his face tells her he’s willing to save her--from Calypso?

It’s not that Annabeth had  _ expected  _ to like, fall in love with him at first sight or anything, but Calypso’s stories had mixed with her own hyperactive imagination and Buzzfeed’s articles about the swoon-worthy prince worried her. Relieved, she realizes that he’d be fairly hard to fall in love with. He’s cute, sure, but immediately strikes her as, well, babied. She takes pride in the fact that she has standards, after all. He  _ is  _ a prince.

Earnestly, Annabeth responds, “Thank you, Your Highness. I’m honored to have been chosen to even write it in the first place.” Though she doubts the prince had anything to do with it, anyway.

“I’m sure you deserve it,” Prince Perseus says firmly. Annabeth likes the way he gives compliments in that blunt, no-nonsense way, as if he hasn’t really given a compliment at all. As if he’s stating a fact.

Calypso lets out another long, exaggerated sigh. “You told me you were a reporter. And she’s not a lady.”

“I never said that,” Annabeth says, at the same time Prince Perseus questions, “You’re not a lady?”

“Whatever, whatever,” Calypso waves them both off, rolling her eyes. She slides her red heels back on and pushes past both princes to tug open the door even further. Jason steps away from the door, flustered, before reaching to open it the rest of the way. “Come on.” He’d obviously been eavesdropping.

Prince Tyson obeys quickly, grinning. He leans in conspiratorially and widens his eyes comically. “I think they’re gonna fight,” he whispers, but loud enough that everyone still hears. “See you around, not-Lady Annabeth,” he says around a mouth full of chocolate. “I’m just gonna take this with me,” he adds, motioning to a second chocolate bar from the basket.

Prince Perseus nods and simply says, “Annabeth,” like he had meant to say ‘goodbye.’

Calypso waits for both boys to leave the room before winking at Annabeth. “I’ll see you soon, okay? We’re friends now.” She says this in an irrefutable way that’s not dissimilar from Prince Perseus’ complimenting.

Then she’s gone. As Jason closes the door she hears, “I swear you think you’re my mom. And do  _ you _ have to eat  _ everything?”  _ and laughter from the boys. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slightly longer chapter! And the last one for tonight...  
> Lots of love,  
> Betweentowns <3


	6. Monarchy Mag

Annabeth doesn’t see Calypso “soon.”

She doesn’t see Calypso, or Prince Perseus, or even go-lucky Prince Tyson.

So, she gets into a routine.

Breakfast, write, lunch, explore, write, dinner, write, sleep.

She’d been on a cruise with her family once when she was younger. After her father remarried and her younger step-brothers, Matthew and Bobby, were born, her parents had made it a point to do as many family-friendly things as possible--something that wasn’t the case when  _ Annabeth  _ was younger. The details are blurry now, but she can remember this--someone constantly offering to help, any service imaginable available, twenty-four-seven food.

Olympus Palace is just like that.

Annabeth takes to eating at the smallest restaurant in the lower part of the castle. She finds that the further you get from the Great Hall, Olympus seems less like a castle and more like an abnormally fancy hotel. A small-city-sized, gold-plated hotel.

The initial  _ I’m living at Olympus!  _ reaction wears off quickly, the way excitement always does when there’s no one to share it with.

Sometimes, when she’s in her room and knows Jason is on duty in her hallway, Annabeth cracks open the door and coaxes him into giving her some palace gossip. She can’t write about a place she only knows about from  _ research,  _ after all. And who is a better source of information than someone whose job is to watch and listen? Plus, she finds that Jason is kind of funny, in a seriously unintentional way. He tells her about how he’d signed up for the military and ended up in the palace rotation and liked it. “I see my girlfriend Piper more this way, anyway,” he admits bashfully.

She calls her father everyday. Her side of the conversation usually goes something like, “Yes, I’ve met the prince. Yes, the palace is beautiful. Yes, I miss you guys. Yes, I’m writing. Love you too.”

The Tuesday after she arrives at the palace, she meets with her editor, Apollo, for breakfast.

He asks her how much she’s written and she’s noncommittal. “Look,” he says, pouring syrup over his pancakes, “you need to take this seriously. This is a huge project and all you have is a year. Which means you actually have to, well, write.”

Apollo is like Hannibal Lecter, but with more emphasis on the devouring people for breakfast thing. He likes about ten people, and on a good day, Annabeth can make number ten on the list.

She’s not yet sure if today is a good day. “It’s only been five days. And I  _ am _ writing— I just wanted to get my bearings, outline a little, do some pre-research.”

Apollo sighs as if he’s exasperated with her. Takes a sip of his coffee, slices through his pancakes as slowly as possible. He pulls out his phone, gives Annabeth some side-eye. He’s in his mid 30’s, and unconventionally attractive--together with his sister Artemis, he runs much of SUNMOON Publishing, the company that the palace had hired to create Prince Perseus’ biography. 

“I’m forwarding you some emails,” he says finally. “The king’s advisors have been up my ass. There’s a list of a whole bunch of stuff that’s off-limits for the book, and then subjects and themes that you  _ absolutely  _ have to include. Basically some fancily worded bullshit about how perfect the monarchy is and how it’s gonna be even more perfect once our lord and savior Prince Pretty becomes king.”

“Yes, sir,” Annabeth responds, watching the notifications pop up on her phone.

“But  _ I  _ still want as much juice as you can include. No one is going to buy a book without  _ juice. _ Gossip, gossip. Okay, kid?”

“But forget the book for a minute,” Apollo tells her. “You’ve been doing a great job of that so far, anyway,” he tacks on.

“ _ Five days,”  _ Annabeth repeats, rolling her eyes.

“I snagged you an article,” he says, then purses his lips for suspense.

“An article where? About what?”

He cuts into more pancake and takes another slow bite.

“ _ Apooolo,”  _ Annabeth whines. “Come on!”

He swallows and takes a sip of orange juice before blurting, “Monarchy Mag. Frontpage!”

“Oh my gosh.”

“I know. It’s a big deal. It’ll help get your name out there, too.”

“Oh my gosh!”

“It’s for the March issue, though. So you basically have to write it and get it to them as soon as possible.”

“Oh.”

“I’m trying to get you to meet with the Prince this week. The vibe they were giving was something of an ‘overview for this year’ thing, you know?”

“I’ve met him already,” Annabeth admits, then explains Calypso.

“I know her. She was betrothed to Prince Perseus, right?”

“Yeah, well not anymore.”

“Capitalize on that,” Apollo says, taking out a skinny black wallet and throwing a 50 drachma bill on the table. “It’s like no one knows anything about that whole curse drama. Let’s be the ones to let the public in on it, finally. And don’t let me down with this article, okay, kid?”

“Sure,” Annabeth agrees. Then she adds, “thanks for breakfast,” because Apollo has already stood up from the table.

“Make me proud!” He calls back to her.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More words!  
> Lots of love,  
> Betweetowns <3


	7. Interragovernment

The next morning, Annabeth receives an invitation to court.

Interragovernment has always been hard to understand--and it’s all Annabeth’s ever known.

Before she began her research for the biography, the ideas of interragovernment (and the workings of a castle, in general) had been blurry background noise for Annabeth. In school, it was much easier to understand the old government systems. She’d understood democracy, and oligarchy, and dictatorships. She remembered her father sitting in front of the television watching the news, turning back to tell her younger self, “this new government will never work.”

But interragovernment is all  _ he’d _ ever known, too. It’s all any of Olympus has ever known.

So Annabeth has known  _ about  _ interragovernment. But today, she  _ understands  _ it.

The invitation comes late. It’s barely 7 when Jason knocks on her door. “Miss Chase,” he had said urgently when she opened the door. “You need to be at court at 7:30.”

Annabeth was still in her pajamas, hair braided back, and eyes half shut. “Um—”

“Hurry and get ready!” He’d replied, and then he’d tugged the door out of her hands closed.

Naturally, Annabeth had crawled back into bed and fell back asleep. She didn’t wake again until Jason had knocked again, almost a half hour later, to ask if she was ready.

“Ready for what?”

So she doesn’t get  _ to  _ court until it’s nearly 8. Jason had shown her to the room—a 10 minute walk on the other side of the castle. Except “room” is too humble a word. No, court is more than a  _ room _ . The closest thing she’d seen to it was the Great Hall here in the castle.

It’s set up in a massive oval, with rows and rows of long, crescent-shaped tables and chairs face each other in something ressemblent of a debate standoff. In the middle of the oval of chairs is an almost-empty space carpeted with Olympus flag purple and silver and topped with the Jackson family’s coat of arms.

It’s a stadium. They have to be in the center of the castle, and an equal amount of space from the farthest, oldest parts of the castle, where the royal family lives, to the more hotel-like parts were Annabeth stays.

There’s two podiums in the empty space. From the way the suit clad men and women file into the seats behind each podium she knows they are politicians from the only two Olympus political parties — the Monarchists and the Antimists.

The Monarchists wear easy going, confident expressions and violet ties and pins and scarves. Their political stance is easy enough to understand. They’re, for the most part, in line with the royal family. They have the same values and ideals as the Jacksons, and support the monarchy and its continuation and success.

When the Jacksons first came to power with the current king’s great grandfather, the Monarchists were challenged by the anti Monarchists, who thought to continue with Old America’s democratic government. With time, anti Monarchists became just Antimists, the group who typically voted against the royal family, and Olympus’ second and final political party. Their extremists often called for the monarchy to be disbanded completely.

In the corners of the long room are glass-walled boxes with more seats. Jason leads Annabeth to one and hands her another freshly-printed lanyard. This one says “GUEST OF THE COURT.”

Calypso opens the glass door. Annabeth can’t help but admire her outfit today--a loose and expensive-looking white t-shirt that doesn’t quite reach the top of pants embroidered with multicolored patterns. Today, her olive green heels taper off to reveal red toenails that match red nails. It’s less her outfit, and more how good she always looks.

“Come in already,” Calypso finally says, in a tone that implies she’s happy Annabeth has been staring open mouthed at her in admiration, “It’s about to start.”

Annabeth comes in. The small glass room, which has about 12 seats, only has two other people in it, including Annabeth and Calypso.

She curtsies to Prince Tyson and Princess Estelle, the former of which just laughs. “You don’t have to curtsy, you know,” the prince said, “that’s only for formal occasions.”

Princess Estelle stands to shake Annabeth’s hand. She too, is dressed casually but elegantly, in a long-sleeved, turtleneck purple dress that stops right above her brown knees. When she twists around to shoot a meaningful look at her brother, Annabeth catches a glimpse of ink where the princess’s dress cuts out to reveal her smooth back. “Ignore my twin, Annabeth. He gets his kicks from making fun of people.” Her voice is warm, but more reserved and posh-accented than her brothers, or Calypso’s.

“Ignore my sister, Annabeth,” Prince Tyson mocks. “Me and the lovely  _ not _ -lady Annabeth already met, Stella. We’re like, old friends and shit.”

Annabeth smiles, and rolls with it. “Yeah, we shared chocolate and everything.”

Calypso interrupts whatever the princess has opened her mouth to say. Annabeth gets the feeling that she doesn’t like not having eyes on her. “Annabeth hasn’t met Nico,” she snaps.

“Nico?” Annabeth questions, but immediately closes her mouth -- because it isn’t until he leans forward that she sees him. The room is simply a glass box, with a glass table laden with finger foods, and three rows of seats. There’s no shadows or furniture to conceal him.

The third boy is the one she’s never seen. Or, at least, Annabeth  _ thinks  _ she’s never seen him at first. He stands still, but slumped, something that’s only noticeable because she’d noticed the perfect posture of the other three nobles first. Annabeth zeroes in on him last but stares at him the longest, only because she thinks for a moment he might fade if she turns away. She only sees him in the first place when he moves slightly behind Prince Tyson when the prince steps forward. It’s then that she remembers him. She saw him on Christmas Eve, lingering behind the prince--Prince Percy--like a shadow the exact way he does now. She recognizes the name — there’s definitely been a di Angelo somewhere in her castle studies.

He raises a hand in greeting--or perhaps acknowledgement--before slipping into a seat. He barely even glances at Annabeth. She’s sure that if he saw her again, he wouldn’t recognize her -- but if Annabeth saw this Nico again, perhaps she wouldn’t recognize  _ him,  _ either.

The other three follow suit, albeit more gracefully. Even Prince Tyson, big and tall and obvious, has something distinctly  _ graceful  _ about him. _ Does poise run in noble blood? _ , Annabeth wonders.

“Come on, Annabeth,” says Calypso, pulling Annabeth into the seat next to her. When Annabeth is sitting--legs crossed all dainty at the knee like Calypso and Princess Estelle’s were--Calypso leaned in to whisper to her. “I told you I’d see you soon.”

Annabeth, rather, thinks that Calypso needs a new definition of ‘soon.’ She opens her mouth to express this before she’s cut off.

“It’s about to start,” Princess Estelle says loudly. Her back is turned so that her quick “shh,” is pointed at her brother, but Annabeth can’t shake the feeling it was meant for her.

Up until that point, Annabeth wasn’t entirely sure what “it” was.

And then  _ it _ starts.

Annabeth doesn’t think she’ll ever question interragovernment ever again.

From their spot in the glass box, the four of them can see the entire room. Annabeth watches, fascinated, as a man and a woman step unto the carpeted floor and take their place behind the two podiums.

Today, he’s back to being a dream. Prince Percy is dressed smartly, in a carefully fitted dark-gray suit accessorized with a Splenda-purple tie and pocket square. Annabeth surmises that he’s representing the Monarchist party, then. Behind him, rows and rows of purple-clad Monarchists murmur appreciatively. The prince angles the skinny microphone closer to him, folds his hands together on the podium, relaxes them again and puts them behind his back.

Annabeth almost thinks he’s nervous. But then he smiles at the woman across from him like she’s an old friend. She doesn’t return the smile. She’s austerely clothed -- a square-shaped gray dress falls to her ankles and her hair is buzzed short. What’s left of it is completely gray, and wrinkles line her face. She’s at least thirty years older than the young prince, and her tone is condescending when she speaks into her own microphone. “Welcome, Your Highness.”

“Welcome, Governor Hera.” There’s a smile in his voice.

With a slight dawning of awareness, Annabeth recognizes the governor as  _ hers.  _ Or at least, Hera was elected Governor of New City, the biggest of the ten provinces of Olympus, last election season. Olympus Castle itself exists in a district in New City, though hours away from Annabeth’s home. She didn’t know New City’s governor was an Antimist.

An announcer, sitting in one of the other glass boxes, taps his own microphone. Annabeth watches as the whole room stills. She holds her breath as the announcer opens his mouth to speak. His voice is as monotone as the governor’s expression.

“Court assembly the first, of the year 2019. Month, January. Day, 13th. Speaker, Monarchist, His Highness the High Prince Perseus Jackson. Speaker, Antimist, Governor of New City, Hera. The question being referred from a previous assembly of the seventy-third, of the year 2019. Month, November. Day—”

“The governor called for court today unexpectedly last night,” Calypso tells Annabeth in a normal volume. She realizes, surprised that the rest of the people in the glass rooms are talking amongst themselves, even though the courtroom remains silent apart from the announcer. Oh.  _ Soundproof. _

_ “ _ I thought court was held only on Fridays,” Annabeth whispers back — it feels weird to speak normally, when it’s so quiet. It’s Wednesday.

“It is. But anyone can technically call for court any day. Usually a random call for court is made to take the other party off guard. The governor’s hoping for an advantage.” Calypso grins wickedly. It’s Prince Percy’s confident smile from before, warped into something menacing.

“I didn’t know the royal family could partake in a court debate, though,” Annabeth replies. She wishes she had brought her laptop. It’s seems less rude, somehow than taking out her phone. There’s just so much  _ information. _

Behind them, Princess Estelle leans forward in her chair to answer Annabeth’s unspoken question. “Technically, any member of court is allowed to represent their pledged party. Our parents never really did, but Percy likes this kind of thing. He thinks that involving ourselves directly in politics shows the people that we care. He’s good at it, too. You’ll see,” the princess finishes, and then she smiles, too. “Be quiet, now.” She says it like it’s a command, and Annabeth supposed that, coming from a princess, it was.

The announcer is still talking. “-- The current question as directed to the panel of bill voters being, Will the bill presented from the Province of New City which therefore asks: Can Mage history be absorbed into New City’s educational curriculum beginning in the school year of 2020. 20 minutes will be allotted for the speakers to answer each question with the given time beginning now.”

“Mage culture is Olympian culture,” Prince Perseus states hastily, almost like he can’t help himself. He’s quick to speak into his mic before the governor, but once he begins, his voice is steady and sure. “As someone who knows much about Olympian history, I can firmly assert that many Olympian citizens who identify with the Mage community have ancestors who assumed significant roles in the founding of the country. We can no longer sit here, and erase the history of our fellow Olympians, with a clear conscience. My own great grandfather, our country’s first king, wrote in his journals about the brave Mage people he engaged with during the Revolution. If --”

The governor speaks over the prince as if he had said nothing. “Your Highness, you speak of Olympian culture. When I think of Olympus culture, I can name all sorts of things -- among them children’s fairy tales and fantasy books. I think you can agree that our young, impressionable students have no business learning about falsities. We don’t teach Cinderella’s tale in school, Your Highness.” The second time she addresses him, she spits out the words “Your Highness” like she had meant to say “devil.”

Prince Perseus raises his hand to his head and taps two long fingers against his temple before he replies. “If something is so…  _ present  _ in our society, how can you so quickly doubt his existence?” When the governor speaks, she focuses solely on the prince. But as the prince talks, he directs his attention from the crowd of animists in front of him to the governor, and back. The thought of being underneath all these bright lights facing a crowd of people who may detest you and your family -- Annabeth shivers. She’s starting to reconsider her initial impression of the prince as babied. Standing in the middle of that big room, nearly the same age as Annabeth, but matching the governor’s level of maturity with ease, Prince Perseus seems more brave than anything else.

“I’ve seen Mage abilities with my own eyes,” the prince continues. “In other countries, where Mage populations are accepted and free of unlawful persecution or judgement, societies flourish.” He’s forced to pause, then, because someone has started a round of applause. Almost every Monarchist is clapping, but the gray-clad crowd of Antimists ripple with subdued claps of approval, too. The prince smiles graciously. “My mother,” he begins when the room is quiet, “grew up in one of the last government-sanctioned Mage territories in Nouveau France. While I never knew her personally, the legacy she left has only led me to form my own opinions on this subject. In her writings, she urged --”

“ _ I,  _ on the other hand, did know your mother personally, God rest her soul, Your Highness,” the governor interjects. She pauses too, but not because her audience is exploding with applause. Rather, every voice in the room has stilled. Prince Perseus pulls his face back slightly from his microphone, like he’s afraid to breathe into it. “You were much too young. And with all due respect, I seem to remember that it was a Mage man that took your mother’s life, and cursed yours.”

Next to Annabeth, Calypso gasps. She hears the twins exclaim at the same time -- “Bitch!” Prince Tyson’s swear is followed by a string of some more colorful words. Even Nico sits forward, scanning the floor with his eyes like he’s searching for something in the prince’s face.

The prince responds very calmly. In fact, the smile on his face is easier than before, his voice impossibly more steady. “You’re quite right, Governor Hera. I’m too young to remember certain events of the past. But thankfully, there’s all the time in the world to focus on issues of the present. That being, the equality of all Olympians. It starts in schools, Governor Hera.”

The governor’s expression reveals that she knows she’s said something wrong. She retorts back, still. Her composure has slipped, and her points are sloppily made and haphazard. It’s clear that she’s irked by Prince Perseus’ demeanor, but the prince is more in his element than Annabeth’s ever seen, well, anyone.

It’s like a dance, except not around the question, but  _ through  _ it. The prince is a good listener, and he responds each time eloquently and purposefully.

This continues until the announcer signals the end of the twenty minutes. The prince remains at the podium, but two people replace the Governor Hera--a tall representative from another district and then another governor. 

He’s always so confident in what he’s saying. He says it and then it’s fact. And when he agrees with the other speaker —they’re dancing  _ and  _ singing.

Annabeth realizes now why the Monarchists had seemed so confident as they had piled into the room earlier. She’s almost embarrassed by her reaction to it all—when she’s finally able to tear herself away from the spectacle, she realized she’d leaned so close to the glass wall that her breath was visible on its face. But she relaxes when she sees the rest of the room is just as captivated and enthralled; and most of them have seen this before.

Even the twins, Calypso, and Nico seem sort of star struck, and they must watch an event like this every week. Annabeth's absolutely baffled by the entire thing. She’s itching to write about it all, already.

The announcer formally closed the floor once it’s over, and everyone spills out of the hall all at once, chattering so loudly. Out of habit, Annabeth makes to stand, as well, ready to leave, but everyone else in the box remains sitting. Quietly, Nico and the Prince Tyson have began to talk. Annabeth catches a few words--Percy’s mom, argument.

She turns to Calypso, hesitating. “What now?” She murmurs the question, hoping only Calypso will hear. There’s something embarrassing in admitting she’s confused to a room of people she’s sure have never not known what to do.

But the princess Estelle hears, and speaks over Calypso, who suddenly doesn’t seem to want to speak, anyway. “We’re waiting,” she announces, fixing her eyes on Annabeth. Like her brother, the Prince Perseus, not her twin, nearly everything she says sounds like an announcement. She doesn’t specify what they’re waiting for. “You may leave, if you want.” This part is dismissive, and Annabeth can feel that she’s not faking it. The princess genuinely doesn’t want her here.

Calypso whips her head around to Annabeth. “No. Stay.”

Annabeth hesitates, trying to decide which one of these women is scarier, surprised, again, at Calypso making her words hold as much weight as a princess’. “Okay.” Then Calypso turns back away, deep in thought. The scent from her long blonde locks, something spicy and enticing, like cinnamon, tickle Annabeth’s nose. When she sneezes, Prince Tyson’s head shoots up, away from Nico.

He grins.“Bless you.” Then he looks pointedly at his twin behind her head, and rolls his eyes.

Annabeth grins back.

Calypso looks at her. “Do you like sushi?”

“Sushi?” Annabeth repeats, surprised that this is what has come out of Calypso’s mouth after she’d been pondering so obviously and for so long.

“ _ I _ do,” Prince Tyson objects, and the quiet of the room is broken when everyone laughs; even quiet Nico is suppressing a smile. Clearly, this is an inside joke.

“What’s so funny?”

Everyone looks up. Annabeth hadn’t heard the glass door open, either. And hadn’t seen Prince Perseus come through it, accompanied by three guards, two men who flatten themselves on either side of the door, and a stern-faced woman who enters the room behind him.

Oh. Everyone stands, and Annabeth follows their lead. This is what--who--they were waiting for.

His majesty is red faced, flushed, and brown wisps of hair turn dark and frame his face in sticky strands. Annabeth is floored. Her heart skips, just one beat, but not for her—for Calypso. It’s like she’s seeing through a window the version of the prince that Calypso always sees. It’s the most attractive he’s ever seemed to her. 

“Ty is eating everything. Again,” Princess Estelle says.

Prince Percy smiles. “Nothing new, then. I assume we’re going to lunch?”

Nico, Tyson, and Estelle are already making their way past Prince Perseus and through the glass door. Tyson pats his brother on the back and says, “Yeah, man. Sushi.”

They share a look, and then the three are gone. 

“Come, please, Annabeth?” Calypso asks.

“I--. Um, no thanks. I have a lot of, um, a lot to do. Thank you, though,” Annabeth adds, and gestures, to, well everything. “Have fun.”

It’s Prince Perseus that replies, looking at her for the first time. “Thank you. It’s nice to see you again, Lady Annabeth.”

Then they’re gone too.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a long time, I know. I missed this world 
> 
> Lots of love,  
> Betweentowns


	8. Pool Party

By her second month in the castle, Annabeth is sitting in the back rows of all sorts of meetings, attending Court every friday. She meets with Apollo and other higher ups from the publishing company often, in and outside of the castle, and writes and edits and outlines and plans all night. There’s barely any time at all for anything else, not that there’s anything else for her to be doing.

She makes the three-hour drive home--her dad’s house--once, to drop her car off. It’s a hassle to get in and out of the castle with your own means of transportation, so she’s gotten in the habit of hailing cabs. Her dad and stepmother aren’t home, but her brother, Bobby, is and they go out for lunch. Bobby’s still in high school, but very smart, maybe smarter than Annabeth and has no time to beat around the bush like their parents would’ve, asking questions about the prince’s hair or which celebrities she’s seen. They talk, instead, about her project, about how much work she’s done, about metaphors, and chapter plotting. Annabeth tells the truth--the project is intense, but not so challenging that she can’t handle it. And--she’s “really, really busy.”

And really, she likes to be immersed in her work like this, taking it in and out with every breath. This, writing and research in the truest of forms, is what she lives for. February creeps up on her with barely any transition at all, and the only thing missing from her Monarchy Mag article is her actual interview with Prince Perseus. She’s met him already--spoken to him and everything-- twice already, and yet the anticipation of this is killing her, the interview itself, the expectations of crafting a perfect article. She hates being on someone’s schedule. But it’s easy to compartmentalize this somewhere at the back of mind as busy as she is, and that is to say, very busy. She’s forced to go shopping within a month, which is less challenging once she receives her hefty first castle paycheck. She’d gaped when Apollo had first slid that number in front of her what feels like so long ago. Why get paid so generously when she was already being provided with shelter and food? But now she understands. Annabeth’s received so many invitations that she’s run out of dresses.

The most surprising invitation knocks on her door on Valentine’s day.

It’s a Sunday, nearly noon, and Annabeth is perched on the tip of her bed, very relaxed. The palace, her given room here, already feels like home. She’s painting her nails a pastel blue, focusing on each one for perfection, working slowly. She won’t waste too much time on this, of course, but she’s reveling, for now, in the fact that she can spend all day on this if she’d really like to.

She gets up to open the door carefully, stopping only to crack open a window and let some of the acetone scent out. She’s expecting Jason, who she’s assumed a begrudging friendship with, stopping to ask her to go for lunch, or to bring a little bit of castle gossip to her.

She wishes she had rushed to the door a little faster though, when she pulls it open. Behind it is Calypso, in royal purple satin pajamas and high heels to match and barely any makeup.

“Oh! Hi--” Annabeth goes to pull the door open wider and accidentally smudges two drying nails on her right hand. “Oops.”

Calypso’s no nonsense. “It’s my birthday today,” she leads with, “and we’re spending the day at the pool.”

“Who’s we?” Annabeth asks, trying to salvage the door by wiping off the paint with the pads of her fingers.

“A guard will bring you down when you’re ready,” Calypso adds, ignoring the question. Don’t wear a purple bathing suit.”

“I meant, happy--”

“ _I’m_ wearing a purple bathing suit.” And then she shuts the door.

“Birthday,” Annabeth finishes, to herself. She waits a minute, until Calypso’s surely no longer in the hall and has had a chance to make her dramatic getaway. Then she grabs some nail polish remover, a paper towel from the bathroom, and opens the door again.

Then, she has to go and buy a bathing suit. She hadn’t thought to bring one to the castle. Not even a purple one.

She hates to leave the palace, even now that she’s able to forgo the extra amount of security involved with taking her own car. She waits impatiently for a guard to hail her a castle cab, then asks the driver to bring her to the closest shopping mall. At the mall, she picks a plain white one-piece suit without looking at the price, and then cringes when it pops up as she swipes her card. At the last second she doubles back and grabs a card, too, purple, the prettiest she could find. She figures it won’t matter to Calypso, either way, but there’s really no present you can get on such short notice for a girl who already has so much, and certainly not one _Annabeth_ could afford, even with her humble new paycheck.

Annabeth rushes back to her room and throws the suit under the outfit she’d worn to the store, the clothes she’d been lounging in bed with, ripped jeans with embroidery she’d stolen from a friend, a white shirt.

Jason is the guard brings her to the pool, and it’s of note to say that before today, Annabeth didn’t even _know_ there was a pool.

But of course there is, attached to an entire hall in a wing of the palace she’s never seen, a hallway that is humid and reeks of chlorine.

Engraved above the huge set of double doors is the word Calypso,’ in loopy, silver lettering. Annabeth gapes, at first thinking for a second it had been _put_ there for Calypso’s birthday, but upon a closer look realizes that it’s slightly old, yet polished. And the lettering is not silver, but mirror glass. She stares back up at herself, reflected there in Calypso’s name as Jason disappears quietly and a new guard opens the door.

The humidity is amplified as a gust of it, mixed with the sharp sting of chlorine, hits her in the face so hard it blows her heavy braids back. She’s not announced and no one sees her, and the guard simply shuts the door, and she debates going back to her room and changing for a minute, as she stands by the door and surveys the scene in front of her.

The royal twins Princess Estelle and Prince Tyson are doing synchronized laps across a pool the size of Annabeth’s dad’s house. Nico is calling out times off his phone from his place on the edge of the pool, across the room for where Annabeth stands. Calypso--in a strappy purple bathing suit, no less--stands at the long end of the pool, a pseudo finish line. The twins tap her hand as they reach the end.

She sees her visitor first. “Annabeth!” She claps excitedly, showing off her brilliant smile that’s too white and too perfect to be real. And Annabeth waves back, cautiously, even if her clear excitement is contagious. Calypso’s kinship is the sneaky kind, because you can never tell if she’s really your friend, but when she’s behaving like she is, it’s the most wonderful friendship in the world.

The twins look up at the greeting, forgetting their little game. Nico looks up, too, before looking right back down. Annabeth gets the message. He doesn’t care about her. This only stings slightly, and is more refreshing than anything else. He’s not cruel, or rude. He simply doesn’t care, and feels no need to pretend he does. That’s a refreshing personality like no one else’s she’s seen at the castle so far.

Prince Tyson takes the opportunity to race to tap Calypso's hand and laughs as his sister rolls her eyes, and murmurs something under her breath, shaking her head. He turns on his back and paddles lazily back to her, clearly showing off. “Hi, Not-Lady Annabeth!” he calls.

“Hi, Your Highness!” Annabeth quips back, expecting him to correct her, then laughing and darting back towards the door when he splashes water her way. Prince Tyson is easily her favorite royal, she decides.

His sister’s greeting is less warm, but not as blatantly disregardful as Nico’s. She raises one hand and offers a half smile, moving to float on her back, too.

“Your Highness,” Annabeth responds, nodding her head respectfully. This time, she’s not expecting a correction.

The princess still manages to be the tone of surprise, though. “I still win,” she says to her brother, looking pointedly at Nico, who nods his head solemnly in agreement. “I’m gonna take a break,” she continues, before rising out of the pool, thick black hair falling against her neck like a carpet. She reaches for one of the fluffy white towels stacked on a pool chair then motions to Annabeth. “Sit.”

Annabeth does as she’s told as Calypso slides into the pool, invisible for a second under the depths. The two of them sit at the edge of the pool, a princess and well, just Annabeth. She tugs off her old canvas sneakers and places them neatly at the leg of a pool chair behind them as Calypso appears above the water again, yards away from where she had gone under. She says something to Prince Tyson that Annabeth can’t quite catch over the lapping water and they both laugh.

“She loved the beach,” Princess Estelle says, quietly, just for Annabeth to hear. “When we were younger, I mean.”

This statement is posed like a question: clearly Annabeth is expected to respond, and respond correctly. She asks a question; it seems the most innocent response. “Is this…” She gestures to the whole room, “Is it _Calypso’s_?” This notion sounds just as silly aloud as it had in Annabeth’s head. “I mean, I saw her name. On the door.”

The princess is quiet for a long minute. Somewhere behind them, or maybe in front of them, music began to play, soft elevator-like tunes. Estelle leans forward staring out at her brother and Calypso, and Annabeth finds herself admiring the tattoo again that she’d glimpsed the last time she saw the princess. It’s a snake, and it curls from the tip of her back where her bikini suit starts, disappearing under the suit’s top strap only to appear again, tiny tongue slithering out from it’s mouth to snare at Annabeth. She’s never heard of the princess having a tattoo, and she wonders exactly how many people have seen it.

Finally, the princess says, “I know that you’re a reporter.”

“I’m a writer,” Annabeth replies back right away. “A journalist, sometimes.”

Princess Estelle eyes her. _Don’t argue,_ the set of her mouth says. Annabeth imagines the snake on her back taunting her the same way. “You’re getting paid to write about my brothers and I. That means we shouldn’t trust you.” She fixes a Annabeth another look, like _don’t talk back._

Annabeth shuts her mouth, shutting away the protests in defense of her book.

“Calypso likes you, though. And she doesn’t have very many friends,” the princess adds, in her English-like accent. “Obviously.”

They look at the near empty pool. _Obviously,_ Annabeth thinks.

“So be her friend, and nothing else. Understand?”

Annabeth nods. Then repeats, “I understand,” because the princess isn’t looking at her. She glowers stormily at the snake. She wants to say something along the lines of Calypso invited _her_ here — she’s not gold digging or class hopping or whatever this princess thinks she’s doing.

When the princess turns around, her expression is easy. Her tone matches “And yeah, it’s technically Calypso’s pool.”

Calypso’s pool. The idea is daunting. Annabeth rolls up her jeans and lets her legs slip further into the water. “Technically.”

“Well it’s in our house, so it’s ours, but Percy had it built for her a year or two ago, so it’s hers.”

Annabeth tries her best not to snort at the word “house” being used for this palace that is the size of a small town. “ _For_ her? Like specifically?” She's genuinely curious now, and she lets all the innocence of that slip into her tone for Estelle’s benefit. She's not a _reporter._

“That’s what _hers_ means,” the princess replies. 

“Why, though?” Annabeth wonders.

They watch the pool for a while.

There’s laughter—Calypso’s, genuine and tinkling and coming towards them; Tyson’s, booming and contagious. Behind Annabeth too, lazy and warm and kind. It matches the content grin on Prince Perseus’ face perfectly when they turn to face him. 

Annabeth had not even realized he was there. 

He sits up and stretches his arms above his head, and the movement is unexpectedly unconscious—this, more than anything today, surprises Annabeth. This prince doesn’t come across as someone who does things unconsciously. For just a second, she doesn’t know where to look, doesn’t know what to say—she’d say it’s his title, but this prince, with his freckled smooth back isn’t the same as Tyson, who is all-Olympus teenager, carefree and oozing money. She only has a second to decide whether or not she should curtsy, acknowledge his royal highness before he decides for her. 

“Lady Annabeth,” he says, the way everyone here swaps titles for greetings, wiping invisible sleep from his eyes. He doesn’t acknowledge his friends, which is the pointer that Annabeth is the outsider. “The pool was a birthday present, me being nice. I hope you don’t think me prideful for saying that.”

Annabeth barely hears him. She’s shocked still by the fact that he’s here, naked save for a watch on his wrist and swimming trunks, dark hair messy and laying on a pool chair. “I, um, don’t.”

Estelle snorts at her brother. “Erecting a fifty-foot pool is you being nice, now?”

“No one else has ever expressed an interest in having a pool,” Prince Percy says. He arches an eyebrow and smiles. “Just ask, and it’s yours though, Stella. You know that. Everyone can have a pool…Though I never would have thought chlorine and wet hair was your thing.”

“Har har,” Estelle huffs. 

“It’s because Calypso used to love the beach, right? I read that in an article somewhere. And now she can’t. Go to the beach, I mean.” Annabeth offers.

“Let’s not go spilling all the secrets at once,” Estelle says. 

“I don’t mind sharing.” Percy is awake, sitting up and looking so alert that he’s clearly been up for a long time.

“I wasn’t even born yet,” he starts, with the air of someone who has told a story a thousand times before. 

Estelle rolls her eyes and slides back into the water. 

“My mom,” he looks at his sister swimming away. “My biological mother—she fell in love with a sorcerer. She told him that she was going to leave my dad for him, but it’s not so easy to leave a king. So after he finds out she’s pregnant, the guy calls her out on their affair, and she denies it, arrests him for treason, and locks him up in the castle dungeon.”

“I’m sorry, but, sorcerer? Dungeon?”

“All real.” He frowns. “Well, they’re not so much dungeons as a badly lit basement, but you tell me what’s more fun to say.” Annabeth chokes a little, doesn’t realize this is a joke until it’s too late.

“Anyway, the curse—Anyone who falls in love with my mother’s children will be trapped here, in the palace, until their deaths as well, just like he was.Except, he didn’t die. He casts the curse, then escapes. As in literal-drop-off-the-face-of-the-earth. Then of course, you know this part, my mother died giving birth to me.”

“I’m sorry,” Annabeth says.

“So, cursed.”

“Cursed,” Annabeth echoes.

“But, if you’ll excuse me now, Lady--”

“Just Annabeth, please.”

The prince observes her for a long moment. Then, “If you’ll excuse me, _Annabeth._ ”

She nods. Watches as he slides on a billowy white button-down shirt. Watches as he doesn’t bother with the buttons. 

Two priorly-invisible guards fall in line to flank him, and when he comes back a minute, Prince Percy is bearing a two-tier purple cake heavy with lit candles. 

Annabeth stands up and joins them all in singing, _happy birthday dear Calypso._

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two in one day! I know!


	9. Bomb

It happens at Court— normal Friday session this time, a month after Calypso’s birthday.

Annabeth is getting the hang of interragovernment. She’s been invited today again by Cal, who has suddenly remembered that she and Annabeth are friends again. Since her birthday she’s invited Annabeth to an entire host of things. They’d scoured the restricted sections of the Olympian library for naughty ancient books, had their makeup done by the same artist who does Queen Reyna of Romania’s. Calypso, as it so happens, is the most fun person Annabeth has ever met (though she acknowledges that it’s easy to be fun when you’re heartbreakingly pretty and unethically rich.)

She doesn’t mind when Annabeth asks self-indulgent questions for answers that will inevitably make it into her book:

“Did you guys _really_ have to walk with books on your head for perfect balance?”

“Of course not,” Calypso says, rolling her eyes—even that is pretty. Then she amends, “We used _Vogue_ magazines. They slip off the head more easily.”

They laugh a lot, but Calypso also spends a lot of time talking about herself. Annabeth doesn’t mind, because the older girl has a _lot_ to say:

“It’s never Calypso,” she says angrily. When she talks about Prince Perseus, it’s always angry. Always, the prince’s forgotten ex, or another poor girl tricked by Percy’s curse. It’s exhausting.”

“But you love it here, don’t you?” Annabeth asks. “The palace, I mean, it’s basically its own city. There are worse places to be stuck forever.”

“It’s not even that, anymore. I’m so used to being here—it’s been so many years. I sort of prepped for it as a kid, even. Percy was _always_ my future. I was groomed to be his wife from birth. And he _does_ love me. Just—“

“Not the way you want,” Annabeth finishes. “I’m sorry. That is so, so fucked up.”

Calypso snorts. “You’re telling me. You know I begged him to take me back? On my knees, tears, everything. I wasn’t so above guilting him into taking me back. I just wanted him to change his mind—even if it was all pretend. I can handle pretend love. Least it’s love.”

“You don’t deserve that,” Annabeth says firmly. Who is she to tell Calypso of Olympus what she does and doesn’t deserve though?

“Didn’t matter anyway. Percy had to be all _noble,_ and _honest,_ and _true-to-his-heart._ What a load of fuckshit,” Calypso sighs. Then, “I guess that’s why I fell in love with him in the first place, though. A guy that good? _Too_ good to be true. Should’ve known I was getting fucked over.”

Annabeth doesn’t have anything nearly as interesting to contribute, but Calypso is the type who prefers to be _listened_ to, rather than to listen, anyway, so the friendship prevails. The more she learns about Cal the more she understands her over-the-top personality and terrifying mood swings. The girl has been through a lot.

It’s a wonder she’s as levelheaded as she is (which is to say, not very much, but _still.)_

As a result of seeing Cal all the time, Annabeth sees more of the royals, too.

Prince Estelle is warming up to her, she thinks, because she smiles a little now when she sees her. Her, Calypso, and Annabeth get brunch and mimosas on the Palace Great Lawn Restaurant one day, and after two drinks, the princess even laughs at one of Annabeth’s jokes.

Prince Tyson—loud and cheery—is the same as usual. He invites Annabeth to see a movie in the royal theatre, much to her surprise. She’d crack open her door when Jason was on shift in the hall, and they’d debate whether or not she should go.

“ _You’re_ the one who told me he was a huge player,” Annabeth argues.

Jason blushes. “Yeah, but I need you to tell me about the movie theater so I can tell my girlfriend. It’s invite-only and Piper is a huge movie buff. Apparently, this theater is the best in the country. State-of-the-art.”

“Really?” Annabeth says drily.

“Take pictures, if you can.” Jason shrugs.

So her curiosity getting the best of her, she goes, and it turns out fine. They watch an action-comedy piece that’s not even out yet and Tyson laughs at every scene and eats three full bowls of popcorn by himself. On the way out, Annabeth sneaks a picture of the room. Jason was right: state-of-the-art.

Nico is also the same, but Annabeth is getting used to that. She’s coming to realize that Nico is this way with most people. She observes, curious, as the princes and princess come and go from the palace, traveling to this country and that. Like Calypso, Nico stays. Annabeth can’t yet tell if this is just a function of his antisocial personality or not, yet.

She even sees Prince Perseus a couple of times, shiny green eyes and annoyingly perfect hair. He greets her every time, just, “Annabeth,” and is pleasantly neutral when Calypso drags her to a meal or event he’s at uninvited.

“Pleasantly neutral. Ooo, that’s good,” Calypso says when Annabeth admits that she’s sure he hates her. “Don’t worry. That’s just how Percy is with people he doesn’t know. Can’t be _rude,_ because you know, he’s the Prince. But he’s also scared to be _too_ nice—can’t have anyone accidentally falling in love and getting cursed, right?”

Annabeth scrunches her nose and doesn’t mention it again. She’s not helping anyone by feeling bad for a _Prince,_ for fuck’s sake.

Today at Court, it’s the same group as last time, lounging again in a sectioned-off glass box—Princess Estelle, Prince Tyson, Sullen Nico, and Cal, who is fidgeting in her seat. Annabeth assumes they’re here to watch Prince Perseus, so she’s pleasantly surprised— _eh herm, neutral—_ when the prince himself strolls in as the announcer begins to belt out the introductions.

“Good morning everyone,” he says, smiling. He slides into a seat next to Nico, who perks up as much as Nico is able to perk up.

Princess Estelle doesn’t even glance at him. “You’re late.”

“My flight _just_ got here and for some reason, the boxes got mixed up. We’re _usually_ in 1108, not 1107,” the prince allows. “Conference was fun, thank you for asking.”

“How is Luke?” Calypso asks quickly.

“Good, good. Should be visiting soon,” Prince Perseus says. “Are you okay?”

Calypso bounces her knee up and down. “No. I’m cursed to be stuck in the same fuck awful place until I finally commit suicide.”

“ _Calypso!”_ Rings out in unison from Prince Tyson and Princess Estelle. In front of them, a debate about tax cuts between two older men takes place.

Her voice low, Estelle adds, “Fucking play nice or leave.” All princess, no bullshit.

But Prince Perseus’ smile doesn’t even waver. “I just meant, that you seem a bit fidgety. Just asking. I like your shoes,” he adds.

Calypso says, “ _I like your shoes.”_

“Who is Luke?” Annabeth asks in an attempt to distract her.

It works—Calypso loves to tell a story. “The King of France. He grew up at the palace with us and we all schooled together and everything.”

“Huh,” Annabeth says. “ _That_ Luke. Figures.”

She glances up to catch Prince Perseus smiling at her. He looks away just as fast and launches into a conversation with Nico and Estelle about the tax cuts issue that Annabeth can’t keep up with and Tyson and Calypso don’t care enough about. In front of them, the older men drone on.

Later, Annabeth will clearly remember these peaceful moments as a _before._

Because _after—_ well, after makes her wonder what beef she ever had with “pleasantly neutral.”

There’s still a minute and twelve seconds left on the debate timer when the bomb explodes.

Annabeth hears two voices in unison—later she categorizes them as Calypso and Nico’s—yell, “Percy!” before she’s flung out of her chair.

She stays pressed against the floor for a long moment as glass shards fall around them like a particularly expensive rain. Then the guards are storming in, pulling her up and pressing her against what’s left of the glass wall. Through the glass, she sees people in the general crowd panicking, gesturing wildly with hands, and holding on to one another. But no one is running. She doesn’t understand why. The glass is shattered so it doesn’t make sense at first why she can’t clearly hear them. Then she realizes that her ears are ringing.

It takes a minute before noise comes to her again. The guards are yelling. “Hands up, hands _up_!”

She puts her hands up.

“Get off of her,” says another voice. This one’s yelling, too. “Off! Of all them, now!” Prince Perseus.

The guard pressing Annabeth to the wall loosens his grip and she turns around to survey the room. There is glass everywhere and the chairs closest to the hole in the glass have been knocked from their hinges. Calypso and Nico seem to have been held against the walls in a similar manner. They both are bleeding from tiny cuts.

She can barely see Prince Tyson, Princess Estelle, or Prince Perseus, surrounded by a thick armor of palace security as they are, but she hears the latter loud and clear. “No one in this room has anything to do with this. I can vouch for them personally.” Annabeth slides to the ground, ears still ringing. The prince is vouching for _her._

She hears someone tap the microphone in the middle where, just a second ago, two people had been discussing something as mundane as _taxes._ Her head hurts.

“No need to panic,” the voice booms. With barely any shock at all—Annabeth can not handle more today—she recognizes the man as The General, Calypso’s father and the head of Olympus’ military powers. “The doors are currently locked just to ensure everybody’s safety. Security is getting to the bottom of this quickly. For your safety, please remain put until we evacuate you shortly.”

That’s why they’re not running.

Inside what is left of their box, a team of guards is shuffling the princes and princess away. Everyone is yelling, but Annabeth can still barely hear. Over everything, though, Percy’s voice rings out clear as a bell. “Those three can go!”

She catches his eye for a second. Not pleasantly neutral, anymore.

Then she’s being led to her room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots of love, guys!  
> betweentowns


	10. After the Bomb

The next day, Annabeth gets a message.

She had gone to sleep quite late, understandably, with all the commotion of last night, and yet she’d still woken early to write. Something about how calm Prince Perseus remained last night, the grace with which he had handled everything, had stuck in her mind. When Annabeth pulled out her laptop around six in the morning to document the event, the words flow more easily than they have in a while. Maybe the trick to writing about the prince wasn’t to criticize him but admire him.

It’s about an hour later when Jason knocks to hand her the note.

“Thanks,” Annabeth says. “Have you been working all night?” It certainly looks like he has. His eyes are droopy and his face is haggard.

“They’ve tightened security a bit,” he explains, then adds, “just as a precaution, of course.”

“Of course,” Annabeth murmurs as he shuts her door. Honestly, though, she’s genuinely never not felt safe in the castle, not even last night. But then again, no one is actively trying to specifically kill _her._

She turns her attention to the paper. It’s easily the thickest piece she’s ever seen; she leans in to sniff, it even smells expensive. Printed at the top in dark purple font is _HIS ROYAL HIGHNESS, Prince Perseus Jackson, Olympus Palace._

Below that is one word, written in a looping cursive scrawl that’s probably the nicest Annabeth has ever seen that’s not been computer-generated, even scribbled hastily. 

_Breakfast?_

Annabeth opens her door again. “Breakfast?”

“I’m to walk you there—if you want to go,” Jason clarifies.

Annabeth shrugs. “ _Can_ you say no to a prince?”

She gets dressed quickly, wishing she had taught to shower last night, as frantic as it all was. She wears a pretty pale yellow dress that is really too dressy for this time in the morning, so exactly appropriate for the palace, applies some mascara, and grabs her purse in record time.

Jason takes lead as they walk throughout the castle.

Annabeth’s short heels are echoing loudly, as there’s barely anyone in any of the hallways, save the unnatural amount of guards. She’s used to not even noticing them, standing scary-still against walls and stealthily opening doors. She’s amazed, for the first time, by the sheer number of them. She feels almost as if she’s doing something to be guilty about as they weave through the throng of armed uniformed men and women. That’s likely the point, though. She can’t imagine anyone attempting _anything_ with this many guards around.

“It’s so… empty,” she whispers. Empty isn’t a good enough word for this decidedly _not_ empty edifice currently boasting its strength.

Jason looks back at her.“Most people have been confined to their rooms. Unless, you’re working, leaving the castle, or,” he raises a brow at Annabeth, “have special permission from someone from the royal family.”

Annabeth ignores his playful comment and raised brow; whatever it’s insinuating, she’s not ready to consider. “They think someone from inside the castle did it?”

“Obviously,” Jason says, rolling his eyes. Annabeth lets him have this dramatic pause, and they make their way into an elevator she’s never noticed. There are two guards _in_ there, too, and she can feel their eyes boring into her back.

Jason can only hold back from expressing his opinion on the whole matter for a minute longer though. “So it was a bomb, right?”

Annabeth nods indulgently.

“See that already narrows the pool of suspects, okay? Bombs, especially ones that small, rarely ever actually kill an intended person. And it had to have been made in here because _no_ one is sneaking weapons into the castle, trust me on that. Plus it was basically all acid. Someone had to have broken into the hospital wing, or maybe one of the research facilities and googled _How To Make A Bomb._ Amateur work, really.” He lowers his voice. “It’s honestly kind of embarrassing.”

Annabeth squints. “How does that narrow the suspect pool, though? It was some amateur terrorist?”

“That’s the thing. It wasn’t a terrorist, at least not in the traditional sense you and I think of. There are too many grey areas. His Royal Highness would have had to been standing in the exact right place at the exact right time, and even then the thing was _still_ weak. If _I_ wanted him dead—God save the prince—I would have used poison, a hitman, anything else. Whoever did this didn’t _really_ want him dead.”

“And…”

“My guess? One of the girls with the curse. Someone with enough motive to want him dead, but simultaneously _wouldn’t,_ because, well, she’s in love with him.”

Annabeth purses her lips at this analysis, but it does make sense. _Calypso,_ she thinks. She’s never known anyone to love and hate a person in the same breath the way Cal can. “Do you think they’ll catch her, then?”

Jason frowns. “What do you mean? They’ve already caught her, of course. There’s a camera covering every square centimeter of this place.”

“ _What_? Who was it, then?”

Jason bites his lip. “ _That,_ you know I can’t say. And anyway—” they reach a set of double doors and he knocks on them. “Anyway, we’re here.”

They're in a part of the castle that’s multiple floors up, and the hall they’re in has three tall sets of double doors with artful, gold plated letters carved into them. There’s ‘ _P,’ ‘T,’_ and _‘E.’_

Perseus, Tyson, Estelle. 

She taps Jason’s shoulder, confused. “Is this… the royal family’s quarters?”

Jason shrugs. “Apparently the Prince takes his breakfast on his balcony when he can.”

Apparently is true. Guards open the door for her and Jason says something to one of them, and her name is announced. “Lady Annabeth Chase,” the guard on the right says.

The doors opened to a balcony, indeed. It points out to the forest that she assumes is behind the castle, though she’s honestly not sure what part of the castle they’re even in, which is likely on purpose. They turned so many times on the way here, passing so many halls she’s never even heard of. She sincerely hopes Jason will be returning to take her back to her room as she watches him disappear.

The balcony is unnecessarily huge, half the moon attached to the side of the building. On its far side is another set of doors, and the location of them suggests that yes, they do lead to the prince’s bedroom. This information, for some reason, is making Annabeth feel incredibly heady.

In the center of the balcony sits a circular table that Prince Perseus, Prince Tyson, Princess Estelle, Calypso, and Nico are seated at. There’s been a sixth seat added, inexplicably for Annabeth, regular old Annabeth, to dine with the royalty and nobility. She takes a seat like this revelation doesn’t confuse her, hangs her purse on the side of the chair.

No one acknowledges her presence with words, but they all look up for a second, and Prince Tyson offers a tight smile. There’s a small cut from a glass shard that had landed scarily close to his eye on his cheek. The only other person whose face moves is Nico—annoyed. Why is she here, he’s probably thinking, and Annabeth wants to assure him aloud that she’s wondering the exact same thing.

The five of them are engaged in a conversation that has clearly been going on for a while. The prince—Prince Perseus—is saying, “there’s nothing to worry about, Stella. Really. We’re all safe.”

Annabeth tentatively helps herself to a couple of grapes while his sister rolls her eyes. “I’m not worried about _our_ safety, Percy. People are getting very serious about disbanding the monarchy. You might not care, but _I,_ for one, _like_ being a princess.”

Calypso laughs curtly. “Poor you. You’ll have to be _only_ rich and famous.” Annabeth gets the feeling that she hadn’t slept last night, either. Her face is haggard, set of her lips defensive. 

Prince Perseus frowns. “Behave, Cal. Please.”

Calypso narrows her eyes but turns them to Annabeth. “I say disband it, anyway. You all suck. What will you do, A? Maybe you can write my biography.”

“Maybe,” Annabeth says noncommittally. No matter how comfortable she gets with this group, she’ll never be completely comfortable. She’s pretty sure talking about disbanding the monarchy, even jokingly, is some form of treason.

Everyone pauses as a fresh breakfast tray is carted out. No one really seems to have an appetite, except Tyson, who Annabeth is beginning to think is a stress eater. The tall prince piles his plate high, and the rest of them continue to pick at toast and fruit.

“What will you say?” Nico asks after a few minutes of silence. Annabeth adds the occasion to the still-countable-on-one-hand list she has of all the times she’s heard him speak. His voice surprises her, again. So soft and gentle coming from a mouth that does nothing but scowl. It doesn’t fit him at all. “Tomorrow, when you address the interracourt.” He’s addressed his question to Prince Perseus and no one else.

Calypso answers it first, though. “That everything is fine, blah blah, the Jacksons will reign forever,” she snorts, which earns her another look from Prince Perseus.

The prince sighs. “I hate to admit it, but Cal’s right. We have to put on a strong front.”

Annabeth is beyond confused. She had thought they’d be discussing the murder attempt last night, it had sounded and looked as though they had been and yet this topic was the monarchy. She voices this quietly. “People outside the palace don’t know what happened yesterday?”

“Of course not,” Estelle replies to her, so quickly and exasperatedly that Annabeth wishes she never opened her mouth. “There’s social media, cameras everywhere. There are thousands of people here on palace grounds at any given time. Of course, people know. The story is all over the news.”

Calypso tuts. “Yeah, but only the version _they,”_ she gestures to the three siblings, “want you to see,” she thrills. “Twisted and twisted until it’s so believable that no one can remember what happened in the first place, whether you were there or not.”

Annabeth is quiet, and so is everyone else. She slides her gaze over to the prince and looks away when he’s looking at her, too. She waits for someone to refute Calypso, to deny it. No one does.

She thinks about how they constantly refer to regular Olympians as “the people.” Like they’re puppeteers holding the world on a string, moving slightly to see what will happen. Playing God.

“What’s the story?” She asks. It’s barely a murmur. What she wants to ask, too is, _What really happened, anyway,_ but she figures she’ll only get the story. 

Prince Tyson answers this time, but not before looking at his brother, first. “It was… Lady Reyna. She’s been arrested on the grounds of conspiring against the monarchy. Treason at the first degree. She’ll be banished, serving life at a prison on the coast of France.”

Annabeth racks her brain for the name. Lady Reyna, one of the king's closest advisors, yes. She remembers the first day they were here, Calypso naming the other people who had the curse. She bites back a gasp, when she remembers Jason’s opinion from earlier, too. This _was_ because of the curse. The extremist antimist thing is the cover.

She feels like she should be mad—wasn’t she just “one of the people,” only a few months ago? She would never have known what had happened here last night if she hadn’t become friends with Calypso. The thought confuses her. She can’t find it in herself to be upset, though. She finds it’s hard to get angry when Calypso is near—it’s as if she sucks the anger out of everyone so she has enough for her itself. Anyone could feel inadequate getting angry next to Calypso.

Tyson sees her expression and misreads it for fear, adding hastily, “Anyone with a motive to hurt Percy has been arrested or taken into questioning.”

Estelle snorts. “Then why is she—” she points at Calypso—“still here?”

Cal wrinkles her nose and sneers. “Same reasons he’s still here,” she bites, pointing to Nico. Annabeth has noticed that she never attacks any one person head-on. All her comments deflect to another person as if she’s in a battle with herself to insult and hurt as many people as possible. Calypso’s anger is enough that everyone needs to take turns in it. “Special treatment from the Prince himself, but only if you’ve ever sucked his—”

“Enough, Calypso” Percy interrupts. It’s quiet but firm. “Enough.”

Annabeth expects Nico to say something back just as nasty—something about his boxy face and narrow stare make him look like he always is, and he has a perfect excuse in Calypso today—but he just gets up from the table, face smooth and mildly annoyed as always. 

“Kill yourself, Calypso. Stop threatening to do it. Just do,” he sneers at Cal, and the guards rush to open the balcony doors as he storms back inside.

Annabeth looks down at the table. She gets the feeling everyone wishes she hadn’t come to breakfast. She does too, but she’d been invited, for goodness sake. She’s just seen and heard things, though, that she knows for a fact she shouldn’t have.

Prince Perseus looks after him, then to Cal, then back at the closed door. Finally, his clear eyes land on Calypso and rest there. “He doesn’t mean that.”

“You’re a bitch, Calypso,” Tyson says, popping a crepe into his mouth whole.

His sister backs him up. “You know can be scared for Percy without being angry, right? We’re all scared. There are other ways to be upset than to be a bitch towards the only people who give a flying fuck about you, Calypso.”

“Oh shut _up,_ Estelle. For once in your fucking life try not to voice your opinion.” Then Calypso has left, too, stomping out loud and noticeable, the exact opposite of how Nico did.

Annabeth scratches her neck, debating on whether or not she should excuse herself.

“I’m sorry Perc,” Estelle says after a while. “But you know how she is—”

“You were goading her on purpose,” Prince Perseus says plainly.

“Well, you know, maybe if she was a better person she wouldn’t have fallen for it. Maybe it’s time you see her for who she is, Percy,” she huffs, and looks to her brother for help.

Prince Tyson is quiet. He’s suddenly very focused on lathering a fresh crepe in syrup.

Quietly, because she feels like she has to, Annabeth murmurs, “She’s been through a lot.”

Estelle whips her head to glare at Annabeth, “You know now that she’s gone you can leave too, Annabeth. Invitation rescinded.”

Prince Perseus clears his throat. “Actually, _I_ invited Annabeth.”

“I—” Princess Estelle thinks for a minute about what to say to this and balks. She huffs. “I’m excusing myself. Tyson?”

Like a princess, she glides out without looking back. 

The guards at the door, looking exasperated, just keep it propped open. 

Prince Tyson clears his throat. “I should probably—”

“Probably,” the other prince says. 

They share a look, brother to brother.

Then Tyson’s gone, too, with a heavy a sigh and bowl of dry cereal.

“And then there were two,” Prince Perseus murmurs. For his part, he looks sheepish.

Annabeth looks at him. For once, he’s looking back, and not trying to hide it. Green on grey. “Lady Reyna can’t go to France, can she?”

He shakes his head _no_ once. His voice is a whisper, the quietest she’s ever heard from him. “Sometimes I wonder if I’m even worth the trouble.”

Annabeth wants to pat his thigh, but she doesn’t. She wants to comfort him, but it’s not her place. She wants to tell him he’s worth the trouble, worth people getting hurt because of him and Calypso's livelihood, but she’s not sure he is.

So she says, “Why invite me?” 

“Because I’ve gotten used to seeing you around?” he offers, shrugging. “Because I like when you’re around? Because people want me dead and that’s stressful and for one, _freaking_ second I want to do something I like?”

This is more words than he’s ever given her. Now that she’s got his full attention, she can’t remember why she’d wanted it. His face looks like it should’ve been carved into the parthenon—big eyes, taut cheekbones, a handsome mystery to the set of his lips. She can’t stop looking at him. She can’t remember why she is supposed to want to. 

Annabeth says, “Are you not allowed to swear?”

He considers this for a moment, face flushed. Then, “One _fucking_ second.” 

She can’t help it. She laughs. Then he’s laughing, too, loud with his head thrown back. For just a moment, she can imagine a younger and kinder Calypso thinking, _I’d rather hear this laugh than ever see the beach again._

“Feel better, Your Highness?”

“Percy,” he corrects. 

“Oh. I’m not sure if—”

“Please.”

“Okay.”

“Well?” he prompts, looking down at his watch.

“I—”

“ _Please.”_

“Ugh!” She throws her hands up. “ _Percy_.”

He grins at her. The way he always does, he responds, “Annabeth.”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First one-on-one Percabeth moment!  
> Lots of love,  
> Betweentowns


	11. Neither Here

“So what else went down?” Calypso is asking.

Here is what _went_ _down_ : Annabeth had sat with the prince—call him _Percy,_ she would _not_ —and had not detested it. Annabeth had sat with the prince and made him smile and then made him laugh. She had called him by his name and imagined his cheekbones as a sculpting on the Parthenon’s pediment. 

So naturally, she tells Calypso. “Nothing. Everyone left. Prince Perseus had a meeting, so I left, too.” This was all true except the very first word.

“Well they’re all assholes,” Calypso asserts. “Who cares, anyway, right?”

Annabeth agrees, “Right.”

Calypso jumps off the end of Annabeth’s bed, towards the mirror, to give herself a once-over. “Coming?”

“I should write…”

“And  _ this  _ is what you need to be writing about it! Come on, what could be more fun than watching Percy mansplain a murder-attempt?”

“Um—”

“There’s no right answer,” Calypso adds solemnly. 

Annabeth sighs. “Let me get my shoes.”

She leaves Calypso to find her way to the sectioned off glass boxes—some of which have been caution-taped for repairs. For the first time, Annabeth sits with the general crowd. It’s due time, she’s thinking, that she remembers she’s “one of the people,” too.

She watches as the prince takes the debate stage. It seems lonely down there with just him behind a microphone.

But then she watches Perseus Jackson take a deep breath that she  _ knows  _ he doesn’t need, watches as he begins to apologize for an attack that never happened, watches him tell the people that they were in danger because of some anti-monarchy fueled attack and not because of his stupid self making never-the-wiser girls fall in cursed love with his downy hair and evasive eyes and constant grin that looks woozy until you look at his eyes again and realize he knows exactly what’s going on—

Annabeth takes her own deep breath. This one much needed.

She watches him  _ lie.  _

“All I’m saying,” he continues, “is that the beloved democracy some ask for _never worked._ Any expert in politics agrees that there is no such thing as a true democracy. Olympus has a system now, and it works. I’m not saying that it’s going to work forever. I’m not saying that I, that my family, is destined to rule this country by some divine right. But years ago we fought for this land with our blood and have only ever done right by our people.”

This is awarded a heavy round of applause. Annabeth rolls her eyes.  _ The  _ people in private and  _ our  _ people today. She reserves her clapping, but she’ll give it to this prince, he knows how to read a room.

“I intend to be a better king than my father, than  _ his  _ father, just as I intend on never turning a blind eye to my people.”

Annabeth full-on scoffs. The person next to her spares an annoyed look and shuffles away.  _ His  _ people. 

“Even if you call for my removal, I will hear you, but until then I will serve you as best as I can. I do believe in the right of people to choose how they are governed, and because of this I urge you to  _ choose  _ this monarchy. For now, choose  _ me.  _ Trust me—I’ve given you no reason not to, and I don’t intend on changing that.”

People are standing at this, cheering wildly. Annabeth glances up towards the glass box she might have been sitting in. Princess Estelle, Prince Tyson, Nico, and Calypso, clapping, too. And the cheering in the hall is a solemn, wordless thing—as if the careful timbre of Prince Perseus’ speech had rendered everyone else speech _ less. _

They all love their prince so much. Annabeth is bewildered. Can’t they see that they’re loving him all wrong, the way he’s just begged his country  _ not  _ to? Not like a king, with undying and unconditional admiration. But like an elected official—with regard, respect, criticism.

Annabeth sees now that no one outside of those who already do is ever going to know what  _ really  _ happened at the Court meeting.

And she feels as alone in the crowd as she did in that glass box with the royals. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A really short one. Happy Thanksgiving my American friends.
> 
> Betweentowns<3


	12. Nor There

There aren’t any Christmas trees—but it’s beautiful, all the same. 

From what Annabeth could tell at the doors, the Great Hall is decorated for the Cotillion Ball, in brilliant whites and pearls and creams that she assumes signifies the purity and innocence of the girls. She’s not sure what she had imagined at the word  _ debutante— _ surely not girls of all shapes and sizes like this, the only uniting factor seemingly that they’re either filthily rich, of noble blood, or both. 

Annabeth’s surprised, too, that they seem to be nearly her age. Would-be college girls, at the latest. Not the youthful preteens she had imagined. No one seems particularly objectified or oppressed, and in fact, they all seem to be smiling, nearly sparkling in what must be a once-in-a-lifetime spotlight.

And it is most definitely a spotlight. It must be akin to the beauty pageants she’d gone to support her friends at what seems like years ago, today. There’s certainly no shortage of eligible suitors, anyway. The girls are all dressed differently, in elegant or elaborate gowns of their own styles, but they are marked as one with a golden pin on their lapels—Annabeth recognizes it from her research as the Olympian King’s pin of high favor—and before any one of them can sit down, another young man has offered his arm to dance. 

As she stands at the doors of the Hall behind a short line of more expensively dressed people who are slowly trickling in and being announced by guards, she imagines what it would be like to be swept off her feet in a pretty dress by a handsome heir to some throne or other, just a little wistful.

“LADY ANNABETH CHASE OF NEW CITY!”

Though her name is announced loudly, not one party goer stirs. It doesn’t matter, anyway, she’s not here to be looked at. She shuffles in with the line, behind the Persian Prime Minister and his tiny looking son. 

Annabeth still feels like a princess. Her dress is absolutely perfect, easily the most comfortable piece of very expensive fabric she’s ever worn. 

Security is tripled for the Cotillion, and the presence of all the uniformed officers only adds to Annabeth’s nerves. It’s not just more of the typical palace soldiers—

The French King is here.

He is, so far, nowhere to be found. Annabeth imagines that he will be announced, grand and fashionably late. This seems very French. Past that, she knows little about King Luke. He’s young and took the  _ Nouvelle France  _ throne after his brother died almost ten years ago. From her research about Olympus’ monarchy, she remembers reading that he grew up here, at Olympus Palace, and that he was close with Prince Perseus.

As far as she can tell, they’re  _ still  _ very close, and as a result, Nou France is closely allied with Olympus. The thought of Prince Perseus being “very close,” though, with anybody other than his siblings, Calypso, or Nico is as foreign as France. 

The French security mingles with theirs—Annabeth rarely thinks of Olympus as  _ hers,  _ but it feels that way now, surrounded by people dressed in different fashions and speaking a different language. They’re in pale blue uniforms, but they’re only noticeable because it’s a departure from the more common shade of pale silver uniforms seen in the palace. Otherwise, they’re quiet, nearly invisible beside the usual guards, occasionally scanning doors and glancing at the windows and ceiling. 

Everything is grand, grand, grand, and for a minute she stands near the main entrance, observing the crowd. 

She’s glad she let Calypso dress her up the fanciest she’s ever been. Even when the girl who has walked up to her looks significantly fancier. She’s wearing a strapless dark red dress and has a face like she deserves to be in it.

“Annabeth Chase? Where do I know you from?”

“Oh—”

“Never mind, I know. You write those articles about the prince? Prince Perseus, I mean,” she says. Her lips twitch. They’re red, exactly like the dress, exactly like her wild hair, and oddly so is the tiny tattoo of a sun on her right hand. Annabeth stares at her. She’s beautiful.

“Oh, yeah.” She’s not sure why she had wished to get noticed for something else. It’s not as if she’s  _ done _ anything else that’d be noticeable. Still, her only remarkable trait being that she wrote an essay on someone more interesting than her? Sigh.

“They’re really good. I like to read, and I like the Prince.”

_ That’s a weird thing to say,  _ is what Annabeth doesn‘t say aloud. She thinks of Calypso, though, and how beautiful girls have a tendency to be used to saying whatever they want. This girl is Calypso’s polar opposite. Annabeth knows better than to use Prince Tyson’s  _ Ice Queen  _ nickname when thinking of her, but it comes to mind now only because the girl in front of her is the exact opposite. She's  _ warm.  _ Her accent is lightly freckled with French. She has a champagne flute in her right hand that’s half empty, yet there’s somehow none of her ruby lipstick on the lip of it. 

“Thanks,” Annabeth says. “That means a—”

“And you’re wearing my dress.”

“ _ Your _ dress?” Annabeth fingers the velvety forest green material. It’s one of Calypso's that she never wore because it “didn’t suit her color.” 

“Well, I mean, my  _ maman’s.  _ She’s a designer.” She holds out her dainty hand for Annabeth to shake, and the sun winks on her as the girl’s do. “I’m Rachel Elizabeth Dare.” 

She does a spin, and the delicate embroidery on her red dress does something magical, and Annabeth’s never even been very into fashion. She nods appreciatively. “I’ve heard of  _ Dare _ .” In passing. From the mouths of people who could afford a dress the price of certain other people's mortgages.

“Everyone has,” Rachel says humbly, and flags down a waiter to replace her champagne flute. She grabs one for Annabeth, too, and Annabeth does her best not to chug it. She can feel the length of tonight in her bones. 

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome. So you know Prince Perseus, right? I mean you’ve obviously interviewed him for your writing.”

“I. Um.” She's not sure what to say to this, or how to follow the shift in tone. Rachel’s gone very serious, eyes narrowed. 

“Will you greet them with me? The royal family?”

Annabeth raises an eyebrow at this Rachel Elizabeth Dare and her expectant gaze and sun tattoo. She doesn’t strike her as the…nervous type. She remembers back to Prince Perseus’ birthday/Christmas Eve party.  _ Annabeth  _ had been the nervous type. She’d felt so small, so shaky, as she’d curtsied before the king and queen of everything she’d ever known. She’d felt less anxious at the thought of meeting the princes and Princess Estelle, but now she thinks that doing it again, even after she—sort of—knows them, would be genuinely nerve-wracking. His Royal Highness would be his normal, formal self, and Prince Tyson would make a joke. Estelle would be flippant. And as the rules go, if you’ve already been formally introduced to the royal family at another event, you technically didn’t have to kiss the throne again. Annabeth hadn’t been planning on it. The only people who did continuously were social climbers. 

But she can’t say no, so she says, “Sure.”

Obediently, Annabeth follows her new friend Rachel Elizabeth Dare to the other end of the Great Hall, where the royal family awaits on their thrones. And she’s grudgingly grateful for Rachel’s presence—even though as they walk, a million eyes are on them; for Rachel, of course. Annabeth thinks it quite possible that she’s drawing more attention than the debutante girls themselves.

“Were you ever a debutante?” 

Rachel turns to look at her over her shoulder, not stopping her model’s catwalk, and Annabeth experiences a bit of whiplash from her face—again. “In  _ Nouvelle France.  _ Not here.” She juts her chin out and adds, “Olympus girls could never dance for  _ our  _ King.” She says something else, too, but the music is too loud and she’s turned back around and her legs are so long Annabeth’s already struggling to keep up.

The music isn’t lyrical, but instrumental, and yet somehow it’s the type of pieces that seem to scream words regardless. Everything’s being played by a full orchestra. Annabeth half expects everyone to suddenly break into perfectly synchronized waltzing. Far behind the girls now, people are still trickling in, and their names are announced in tandem. Everyone’s shiny, and glitzy, and talking all at once. 

Annabeth is pleasantly shocked to recognize Nico, standing next to a man who is— _ also Nico?  _ She hands her empty champagne flute to a server weaseling through the crowd and blinks hard. Nico’s father looks exactly like his son, but broader, with grey hair at his temples and a shiny politician’s beam. The older man, dressed to the tens in a dark grey suit, is decorated with military medals on his lapel. He’s decidedly very handsome, and Annabeth struggles to reconcile the word  _ handsome  _ with Nico’s sunken and frowning face. 

But Nico, in an expensive suit of his own, is looking dapper and neat. Standing next to his father, who is an obvious and loud type of appealing, it’s obvious that Nico  _ is  _ attractive, too. She thinks, uncharacteristically, that if he looks anything like his father when smiling, he should do so. You know, at least once in a while.

Annabeth nods to him as she passes, toting behind Rachel, and thinks he won’t acknowledge her, but then he nods back, imperceptibly. He tugs on his collar, and for once, Annabeth thinks they understand each other. Neither of them is comfortable here.

The royal family, on the other hand, is right at home.

Annabeth is going to add  _ Debutante Ball  _ to her mental list of places and events where Prince Perseus is utterly thriving. He sits straight but relaxed in his deep purple and silver crusted throne seat, and the gracious smile he dons for each person in the introduction line could compete with a Dare outfit for the best accessory of the night. Annabeth thinks she can hear his laugh, deep and welcoming, from her spot ten people behind at the end of the line, even above the music and voices. He sits to the immediate right of his father, and has command of the room nearly as well, already. 

King Poseidon is another surprising sight. Annabeth hasn’t seen him in person since Christmas Eve, though she knows this is likely because, well, she’s just  _ Annabeth,  _ but also because he’d announced at the beginning of the year that he was taking a slight step back from events to allow his eldest son room to assimilate smoothly to the throne. The whole ordeal had Annabeth’s imagination creating weird images of what he might seem like in person, a celebrated king of three decades, preparing for retirement. In person, though, King Poseidon is tall and handsome and most surprisingly,  _ young.  _ He's the same beaming, bearded man Annabeth remembers seeing on television and in newspapers all her childhood, not even a fresh wrinkle or gray hair to distract from this. He is very much the presence tying together this room, but she can tell, even from here, that he is working hard to shift that fact to his son, and it’s working well.

“You remember my son, Prime Minister!” Annabeth reads on his lips, as he deflects each introduction to Prince Perseus, who he looks nothing like. 

_ Well,  _ Annabeth thinks,  _ who he doesn’t have the same features as.  _ Because it’s not so much that they don’t  _ look  _ alike than that they  _ are  _ alike, which makes them look similar.

Prince Perseus has clearly learned by close example, and the king is a good role model. They both raise their hands in the same grand way, hold their chins forward just as straight, and beam just as wide. 

They trickle forward slowly in the queue. Rachel grabs Annabeth’s hand in hers. Her long nails are painted red, too. Like Calypso’s the first day she had met her. When she speaks, she channels the same conviction as Calypso had that day, too. “Be my date for the rest of the night.  _ Oui? _ ”

A command with a false plea tacked to the end. Rachel’s so practiced that she deserved a throne of her own.

“Yes,” Annabeth replies. “I mean, okay.”

They shuffle forward again. There are only four groups in front of them, now. Annabeth hears the first one be announced as The CEO of the company her father works for. 

It strikes her for the first time that perhaps Rachel Elizabeth Dare had  _ planned  _ to bump into Annabeth, that she hadn’t just happened to recognize her face in the crowd and pinpoint her as a writer for Monarch Mag. She thinks of her comment from before.  _ I like the Prince. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a while, but 2 chapters today + Rachel and Luke, FINALLY!  
> Lots of love,  
> Betweentowns


	13. Used to this

In all the time since he’s known him, Percy has never chosen Nico first. Ever.

Nico is used to this. He’s had a lot of time to get used to it.

It hurts when it’s for Estelle and Tyson, but they are his blood, so he takes it. It hurts when it’s Calypso, but Nico sometimes thinks that Calypso is in a worse purgatory than he could ever make up for himself, so he takes that, too. (Imagine: what was it like to  _ taste  _ the forbidden fruit, and have it ripped away from you, as compared to just lusting over it—albeit for a very, very long time?)

It hurts the most when it is Luke, and Nico can’t take that at all.

His father claps a hand on his shoulder. “Mingle,” he commands and shoves Nico into the throng. Hades’ shining smile doesn’t even falter.

Nico knows an opportunity to bolt when he sees one. He figures he can leave the ball in exchange for his warm bed that doesn’t include watching Percy spend the next few days relearning that Nico is second-best on his list of friends. He winces at his father’s word choice as he weaves his way through the crowd. The debutante girls have been whisked off by some professional-looking official for what Nico assumes is an outfit change, and their admirers are now lurking into the crowd for other pretty victims. Nico doesn’t remember ever being so  _ young,  _ so inherently obsessed with life’s sins and pleasures.

“Mingle,” Percy had advised too, earlier that day. “Who knows? You might have fun.”

Nico is having no fun at all, and thinking about Percy forces him to turn around unwillingly to glance at him on the throne before he slips from the great hall entirely.

There’s a red-headed girl. There’s Annabeth, too, looking fancier than he’s ever seen her, but she’s to the side, laughing at something Tyson has teased Estelle about.

Percy is flirting with the redhead so obviously it’s painful to watch, which makes Nico think this is intentional. Percy rarely ever does things that are unintentional. He’s very, very self-aware. The girl, with a seductive tattoo on her shoulder and a face that's sweet and biting like a cherry, seems to be made of the same type of cloth.

Rebecca, maybe Rose. Last name is definitely Dare. Nico only recognizes her because she’s wearing a red dress that is so obviously her mother’s design. She is, naturally, a supermodel. Heir to the biggest fashion company in the world. He’s trying to size up if she is Percy’s type when Calypso taps his shoulder.

“Excited for Luke’s arrival?”

Nico flinches away from the contact. This is why, regardless of any stronger and lasting feelings about Calypso, Nico will never  _ ever _ like her. There’s no reason to be so mean all the time. He is thinking about how to call her a mega-bitch without causing Calypso to create a scene that later his parents and Percy will scold him for starting, when Calypso follows his line of sight, and gets all the karma she deserves.

“Who is that?” She snaps, as the Dare girl throws her head back and laughs again.

Nico sighs, because you have to sigh around Calypso to avoid your brain telling you to handle her antics in any other way. “You know. Dare.”

He watches as Calypso’s face goes the color of her newest enemies dress very slowly, and wonders how he hadn’t noticed her be announced, or even seen her enter, either. After all this time, Calypso herself is still a head-turner in the skin-tight nude-colored gown she has chosen, even if the heads are reluctant and the turning is cut short once it’s realized who, exactly, they’re lusting over. He remembers a time when those same heads would have been emboldened by a dress like the almost too-scandalous one she had worn for tonight, when a dress like it would’ve made them go so far as to ask for a dance, or a phone number.

It’s funny. Calypso being  _ with  _ Percy had never stopped the admirers. It had only taken Percy  _ rejecting  _ her to stop them.

“What is she doing with him? What’s she doing with  _ Annabeth? _ ” She sounds horrified and betrayed.

Nico laughs, and it’s cold, and mean, and makes him feel better about not retaliating when Calypso had brought up Luke. “ Oh, I don’t know. Gymnastics.”

Calypso rolls her head back. Her blonde locks are in shiny ringlets tonight and they fall against what is either the extremely accurately colored dress, or just her back. “I’m going to—”

He never finds out what she was going to do, though, because the music has slowed and quieted as the debutantes are returning to the Hall in a perfect formation, dressed in—Nicohad guessed it—matching baby blue dresses.

He thinks back to history lessons with private tutors as a child.  _ The redcoats are coming. The redcoats are coming. _

The French are coming. Luke Castellan is coming.

It’s too late to sneak out now. People don’t get out of the way of the train as it hurtles at them. They stop and wait in fear for it to hit, but you can’t look away. They hope for someone to push them out of the path of disaster. Per usual, no one is coming to save Nico.

The young cotillion girls march out to the beat of a new song that’s been picked up by the orchestra, graceful, but not in a beautiful, knowing way, like Calypso’s sexy gait or Dare’s head-thrown-back-in-a-calculated angle laugh. No, these girls are perfect, too, but stiff and practiced. Nothing natural about it. The crowd parts as they make their way to the royal family’s throne and bow for each to the family members. The King, the Queen, Percy, Estelle, Tyson.

They beam as their names are announced and their faces go from being of potential marriageable age to young and eager again. Nico watches them smile particularly hard for Tyson, the most obviously eligible young man in the room, as well as the most sought-after following the crown prince himself. Tyson grins his lazy and patented half-grin back. He’ll be returning to his room with at least four of them. He’s a simple man.

The girls are followed by the French procession. The music picks up again to something recognizable and foreboding—the  _ Nouvelle France  _ national anthem.

King Luke is coming… And come, he does.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There'll probably be 1/2 more chapters of the ball scenes, and they'll be coming sometime early this week!  
> Lots of love,   
> Betweentowns


	14. The French King

After the debutantes dance, the French King arrives, the music pounds: Annabeth needs air.

The balcony outside the Great Hall is a long, wrap-around edifice. It’s hidden with dark drapery embroidered with deep purple, and until a minute ago, Annabeth hadn't even known it existed. She’d watched another one of the champagne-toting waitresses slip behind the curtain and followed.

It’s a cool night, for March. The air bites at Annabeth’s exposed skin, but it feels good after the unnatural warmth of the ball. The boisterous noise is dulled, too. Her only companions are two of the debutante girls, who pay her no mind from their spot across the balcony, giggling and half-hidden by curtains. It humbles her.

She’s not used to fitting in. At school, she was accomplished, pretty, smart, and a good writer. In some circles, she was even special. Here, she’s slowly becoming used to being unnoticed. She’s not sure what to make of her new friend Rachel Elizabeth Dare or the weird tension the King of France has created or anything. She’s not sure what to make of anything, and as the curtain whooshes again behind her, she thinks, _I’m not sure._

“Annabeth?”

It’s Prince Perseus. He’s behind her and he’s said her name. Or at least she imagines he had, because he’s looking out off the balcony, and not _at_ her when she turns around. Below them is the courtyard, which means to the right of them is the arena, which looks onto the courtyard, too.

She imagines that she should be able to see the balcony leading out from the prince’s room, the one she’d eaten breakfast on just last week, but she can’t. The anatomy of this palace still makes no sense to her, and the layout itself is a thing that breathes and moves—alive. 

She turns around and curtsies, even if he’s looking past her. “Your Highness?”

“Percy,” he reminds.

She clears her throat. “Yeah.”

“How are you enjoying the ball?” The Prince is in his element tonight, and he waves his hand back towards the Great Hall as if it and everything and everyone inside it belongs to him, and he’s presenting it for her judgment. His cheeks are flushed rosy and his suit moves with his every step like an extension of his body. 

Two, four, six steps and he’s standing in front of her. Annabeth swallows and remembers her promise to be unapologetically Annabeth. 

“It’s all very…” she trails off, in search of a word that will fit. _Pretentious, showy, surreal—_

“Beautiful,” the prince finishes, then smiles smugly like he took the word from her lips himself. Annabeth looks to the courtyard and shuts her eyes. The prince. Her lips. _Your tipsy,_ she reprimands herself.

“Something like that.”

He makes a sound that is almost a snort. Then coughs. “It is, but it’s other…less savory things, too, and I know that. But when beauty’s present, I think it’s best to look at it and ignore the rest, don’t you?”

Annabeth turns around. She’d come out here to think, not be given more things to ponder. “I don’t know. I haven’t seen things and people this beautiful until recently.”

He winces. She hadn't meant for that to hurt, but still, it tugged on some invisible strings. 

He laughs. “It is, but it’s other things, too, and I know that.”

Annabeth snorts. Then covers her mouth. Her ears are on fire. “Optimistic.”

“Cal calls it, _bullshitting your way home._ ”

“Cool,” Annabeth says. She’s not sure why he’s still here. There’s a whole room of people back inside that would actually _enjoy_ talking to him.

“Would you mind terribly if. . .” Prince Perseus pauses, then turns to look at her. Finally, he turns around and offers his megawatt smile. It’s his best feature— the moon dims a little behind him.“I need a favor.”

“From me?” Now, he’s looking straight at her, but she’s still not positive it’s her he’s talking to.

“Yes. Will you do me a favor, Annabeth?” He asks this next question as if he’s holding back a sigh. 

Annabeth hiccups. _Why don’t you ask Rachel?_ is on the tip of her tongue, but she swallows it. She needs another champagne flute. Or maybe water. Probably water.

“Am I supposed to agree before you tell me what this favor is?”

He frowns. “That would be ideal, yes.” He motions for her to take his arm, and she does without hesitation. Somewhere in the rule book, there’s definitely something about not taking the prince’s arm. “I owe you one, Annabeth. Luke can be. . . Enthusiastic.”

 _Luke_? Because he’s steering her away from the balcony and right towards him. She’s melting into the ground. Distantly, she wonders if there’s something in the rule book about getting a melted puddle of Annabeth onto Percy’s Tom Ford suit. Shit, she’s so drunk. 

“Bonjour,” Prince Perseus says, spreading his arms and smiling. He slips into French so easily it is more attractive that surprising. Of _course_ , he can speak the language of love. 

The French King speaks English just as well. “Too lengthy,” he starts, “is always the period of time between our visiting together.”

They embrace, and Prince Luke is quite possibly even more good looking than their crown Prince--his perfect counterpart, only a few years older, light eyes and light hair.

Luke Castellan is so close that if he took another step, the arm he’s stretching across his chest could easily brush Annabeth’s cheek. Fluffy blonde hair hangs against his forehead and battles with long, dark eyelashes to cover thunderstorm clear blue eyes. Up close, Luke Castellan is the kind of handsome that surprises you every time you blink and get to look at him again. For a moment she forgets all the reasons why she ever has felt intimidated or in awe at the prince next to her. 

“Your Majesty,” Prince Perseus grins, “Lady Annabeth Chase.”

“Annabeth, may I introduce my oldest friend, the King of France, Luke. Annabeth is a special guest at court. She’s writing a biography on Olympus and all of our monarchy that we all can’t wait to read. I’m told it ends with me.” He stops to share a conspiratorial wink with the King. “But admittedly, I haven’t heard much else, and I’m afraid none of us will until it’s complete.”

God, Annabeth wants to swoon, to sigh. Charm is turned up way high tonight. “Hey. I mean hello. Your Majesty.” Fuck. At the last second, she curtsies low to save her burning cheeks.

“Bonjour, Miss Annabeth,” the French King laughs. “So you are the one who attempts to steal my Calypso from me?”

Are French accents supposed to be _this_ sexy? “Um, I’m sorry— _steal?_ ” 

He could _have_ Calypso, as far as Annabeth was currently concerned. He could have _anything._

He laughs again—he reminds her subtly of Tyson because of his relaxed, easy manner. “I invite one of my closest friends for breakfast tomorrow, and she tells me that she’s already preoccupied having breakfast with _you_.”

“I—”

“It’s no matter, I’ve solved the problem.”

“You have?” Annabeth has _no_ idea what is going on right now. She glances at Prince Perseus who is just shaking his head.

“The three of us, we’ll go to breakfast together, yes? Tomorrow morning.”

At this, Prince Perseus raises one brow. “Breakfast?”

King Luke rolls his eyes. “ _You_ are not invited.”

They both laugh, then turn to Annabeth in unison. “Annabeth?”

“Oh,” Annabeth says. “Um. I guess.”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots of love,  
> Betweentowns


	15. Has Breakfast with AnnaBETTE

Annabeth can’t quite get over Luke Castellan—he’s perfect. He treats her like they’re already friends, and she supposes that they are.

“Your majesty,” Annabeth begins.

The King of France says, “Just Luke.” And that is that.

Doesn’t hurt that he’s insanely attractive, too. He seems to know this, in that way that only makes him more attractive. Like some movie prince charming. He’s staying only for a week, and he’s informed everyone with gusto that he’ll be taking Estelle and Tyson back with him to visit France. “I miss mes amis,” he says again and again. Calypso glowers at this.

As promised, the three of them get breakfast. 

Inside some fancy room Jason delivers her to that Annabeth has of course never seen, Calypso in another dress that makes Annabeth want something designed by Rachel Elizabeth Dare’s mother, the King of France looking dapper as he sips orange juice. 

Luke seems to be under the impression that she’s used to dealing with men of high status, and she knows where he got that impression, and she balks at the thought. “You and Prince Perseus are cousins, right?”

He grins and winks like he knows what she wants to hear. “Distantly, my Annabette.”

He says her name like this each time. 

Calypso rolls her eyes. “All the royal families and nobles claim that they’re related, to some extent. Of course, with all records—conveniently—destroyed in the war, who’s to say really.”

Luke adds, “I think family is what you make it.”

Calypso nods, and both their expressions are fierce for a moment. Annabeth senses the years of “what you make it” behind their careful demeanors. She changes the subject.

“And how is it? Being a king, I mean.”

Luke answers her easily, in his way that tells her he’s comfortable with the things he shares, that he has an arsenal of them so great that he’ll never run out of things to tell that seem like secrets. She can’t stop drawing comparisons to him with what she knows of Olympus’ prince—even their king, who are both distant and politely withdrawn. Luke’s methods of keeping what matters to himself are just as good, but perhaps less obvious. She gets the feeling that there _are_ things he wouldn‘t say—but also the feeling that she’d never figure them out, anyway. 

He’s smarter than Percy. More mature. 

And not that she’d been _worried_ that such a person wouldn’t exist for her, but it’s good to know, all the same.

And not that it helps that Luke is a king, either.

Hades. Okay, okay—she _might_ have a type. 

“Why me?” Annabeth asks after swallowing a bite of the _croque monsieur_ Luke had begged her to try for breakfast. “I mean, why did you want to meet me?”

Luke smiles again. He does this often, which makes Annabeth think of a particular person who also has a really nice smile. She shakes her head as the king starts, “I grew up in this palace, Anabette.”

Calypso leans in over her own _croque madame._ Annabeth has no doubt that she’s heard this story already, and yet—Luke is just one of those people.

“Me, Percy,” (he says this like, Per _cee,_ like it goes on and on forever, which she _loves_ ) “Nico, Stella, Ty, and of course, _ma belle,_ Calypso.” At this, Calypso _blushes_ , actually blushes and Annabeth thinks that nothing is right in the world lately. 

“My older brother was King in France, and he was young, healthy, had just gotten married and had plans for children. So I was not needed there. Instead, I was sent here, to study and play with the only other person in _l’univers_ like me: another young prince, Percy. As much as we would compete and fight, we were best friends, the two of us, _all_ of us.”

Annabeth isn’t quite sure how this all pertains to her question, but she’s engaged anyway. “What happened?”

He chuckles. “Life. We grew up. My brother, rest him, died of a heart attack before bearing a child. Someone had to rule France. And I love it, yes, but always wish I could have somehow taken _mes amis_ with me.” At this, he stands up to wrap an arm behind Cal’s chair and place a kiss on her right cheekbone. 

Calypso waves him away, visibly flustered. “He’s lying, Annabeth. He’s too busy bedding every girl _and_ guy in Europe to even remember to miss us.” 

He ignores her and bends to kiss her _left_ cheek, too. “How can I think of anything else when a face like yours exists, _ma belle?_ ”

Calypso somehow manages to glare and look extremely pleased at the same time. “He’s also a shameless flirt.”

“To answer your question, Annabette, I know and trust the people of this palace completely. When Per _cee_ mentions someone in a letter to me, even just for a second, I make it my business to know her. And I’m glad I now do.”

Annabeth swallows. “Um, Thanks.”

“ _De rien._ And now, I must go. There is a treaty, to write, after all. I will see you again, Annabette?”

“Um, yeah. I mean, I’d love that.”

He bows at her. And then, to Calypso, “Later tonight?” 

Calypso flushes again, in a way that makes Annabeth not want to ever know what is happening “later tonight.” Annabeth finds something interesting to inspect on the bread in her _croque monsieur_ as Calypso murmurs an agreement and Luke swoops in to peck her face again.

And then, in a flourish, he’s gone.

“Makes you wonder, right?” Calypso’s voice is flippant. 

“What?”

“Whatever Percy told Luke about you.”

“Only about the book, I’m sure. At least that’s what they both said last night. At the Debutante ball.” This was not exactly true, but Annabeth did not like the way Calypso was looking at her right now. 

Calypso visibly relaxes. “I’m sure.”

But it _had_ made Annabeth wonder.

* * *

She hasn’t realized that Percy, Tyson, Estelle, Calypso, and Nico were an incomplete group until she sees them with Luke. They’re young, and attractive, and so confident in both these things that they only seem younger and more attractive. They are the literal future of this world, they know it, and yet they act as if they have no impact as well. Percy is suddenly, comfortably, second in command, and Nico is a friend. Luke is the _best_ friend. He flirts with Calypso, and all of her and Percy’s ever-present tension is gone. Tyson agrees immediately to visit in France for a while when Luke leaves, and so does Estelle, protesting that she’ll leave a little after, needing to tie up some loose ends here. 

It reminds her of the time she spent with her friends the summer after high school—the ease, fun, of being reunited, but with the lingering feeling that each time they see each other again, the visits will be shorter, the time between greater and greater. 

She feels bad for Percy, who is so content all the time, because she never realized he could be this _happy_ all the time. She feels bad for Calypso, who will return to being the bitter-with-good-reason-ex-girlfriend once Luke leaves, but lets her love for Percy show, anyways. She feels bad for Luke, because his best friends are in Olympus and he is in Versailles. She feels for Nico, who she now knows is undoubtedly a second choice, and who undoubtedly knows it. She even feels bad for herself, standing at a window, watching as they stroll through the grounds, laughing and linking arms with each other, because _Annabeth’s_ family is _just_ her family, and she never even realized that she might want a family that is “what you make it,” as well. 

How can she ever do their radiance justice with words when her mind can barely comprehend what she’s seeing? Annabeth knows a lot about stories, and it’s clear that she’s walked in on one that already has chapters and chapters. If their story is a trilogy—she’s only a passerby present for a few filler pages in the middle of the first book. These characters were written long before her, and they have a history, pages and pages, and they’ll have their story after her, their stories apart and their stories together and their conclusions.

And now she has to tell these stories. The enormity of it settles on her shoulders—and then makes her sad. 

What if she wants a story of her own?

She sighs and moves from the window as a nearby guard begins to eye her suspiciously. Laptop under her arm, she heads off to write.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two tonight! Hopefully more coming soon, as I'm on winter break for a couple more weeks. :)  
> Betweentowns


	16. Rachel Elizabeth Dare

Winter leaves and with it the dashing King Luke Castellan and his slew of French guards and court members. He takes Tyson with him, makes Estelle promise that she’ll be following shortly. Nico seems to breathe better when he’s gone. Both Calypso and—unexpectedly—Percy, are moody. 

Spring comes. 

Annabeth wakes up on the first day of April to a text from her editor, Apollo: WHY DIDN’T I KNOW ABOUT THIS FIRST? GET ME A STORYLINE ABOUT EVERY LOVER THAT KID’S HAD IN THE PAST 5 YEARS. STAT. XX.

Attached is a link to a gossip blog with the headline article,  _ Prince Percy’s French Kiss!  _ There’s a blurry picture of the Prince walking in New City, arm around… a redhead. 

It’s not a secret. For most of the month, Perseus Jackson and Rachel Elizabeth Dare are photographed all over the world, in countryside cafes and fancy events and elsewhere. The only thing she actually hears the Prince say about it from his own mouth is to the Royalty Weekly — “I’m at a point where my main focus is becoming a good enough king to reign over such a great kingdom. Marriage is fun to talk about, and definitely something I want for myself, but it’s sort of an abstract concept for me right now. I’m trying to stay focused on bettering myself for the sake of my reign.” 

No, it’s not a secret at all, but Annabeth expects it to not be spoken about much in the castle. She’s surprised when Calypso brings it up at lunch with her and Estelle. “Bet it’ll last another month.”

“Who knows?” Estelle says. “It might be the one this time.”

Annabeth glances underneath the table, as she thinks Calypso has  _ actually  _ stomped her foot. “No airheaded supermodel is going to be Percy’s  _ one.” _

Estelle snorts. “Can’t say my dear brother doesn’t have a type.”

Annabeth opens her mouth before Calypso can retort. “She  _ did  _ seem a bit, I don’t know, social-climby, when we met at the Cotillion.”

Cal throws her hands in the air. “Oh so just because a girl’s  _ pretty  _ that makes her an evil greedy bitch?” 

Annabeth groans. “I didn’t say that. She was nice! Really funny…” she trails off. That might not have been the right thing to say, either. 

“Wow, Annabeth, we get it she’s perfect and you’re in love.  _ You  _ should date her!”

“That’s not what I meant. I’m on your side!”

“There are no sides. Nobody’s arguing!”

Annabeth just nods and slinks down in her chair. The princess is sporting a shit-eating grin—enjoying this whole thing all too much. They continue their lunch, Annabeth morose, Calypso seething, Estelle smug, and all three girls silent. 

“He’s gonna break up with her soon,” Calypso says finally as they finish eating. “You know him, so specific with all that True Love bullshit.”

Estelle rolls her eyes. “He needs to understand that he’s never going to find anyone perfect for him. True Love is about making it work.”

“Love is for bitches.” 

“You would really think you of all people would believe in love, Calypso.” 

* * *

A few days later Annabeth awakes to a slew of messages and decides she’s leaving her phone on silent from now on. 

_ Calypso:  _ Emergency!!!!!

Wake THE FUCK up!

I️ will have you executed!

Kidding.

Come ON. Spa day.

“For fuck’s sake,” Annabeth groans into her pillow. But she gets up and gets dressed and when she opens her door, Jason is already waiting for her, looking sheepish. 

She skips the greeting. “There’s a spa here, too?”

Jason laughs. “Don’t act surprised. What’s up your ass?”

“Too early.”

“Oh, gods forbid, poor Annabeth has to go get a relaxing massage with a couple of princesses.”

But he takes her to the spa.

“. . . Is everything. . . Okay?”

Calypso has cucumbers over her eyes. She tilts her head in Annabeth’s direction. “This has nothing to do with Percy’s plaything, before you ask. And everything to do with my midlife crisis.”

Next to her, wrapped in a towel with her feet in some sort of mini bubble bath, Estelle says, “You’re 20, Calypso.”

“And not planning to live a day past my first wrinkle.” 

Annabeth is wordless as a young lady with an apron guides her to change into a bathrobe then join Estelle by the bubble bath. She is also, perhaps feeling a little crisis-y. And she’s not at all one of the princess's biggest fans, but she’s already dreading tomorrow when Estelle leaves for France. 

That’ll leave Annabeth alone with Calypso and Nico and Percy. The people who can’t leave and the reason they can’t. She takes a deep breath and allows for her feet to be guided into warm water. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3  
> Betweentowns


	17. Buttered Toast, Peter Principles, & Competent Kings

The Crown Prince of Olympus eating buttered toast at one in the morning is easily the oddest thing Annabeth’s seen at the palace.

It’s been eerily silent here lately, without the French gone and Tyson and Estelle with them. It’s like Annabeth’s first day at court again, the absence of 21 Christmas trees. 

It’s Annabeth’s impression that the twins are only visiting Europe for a couple of weeks, but Calypso, for some unknown reason, is acting like they’ve moved forever. She’s undeniably in a _mood_ —hasn’t answered any of Annabeth’s messages or calls and has skipped Sunday brunch twice in a row. It’s not hard to guess why she’s so annoyed that Tyson and Estelle have gone off to party in Paris with Luke, but Annabeth can’t help but be a _little_ offended. She gets it, really, that Calypso wishes she could up and travel the world with her best friends, too. Still, she wants to find Cal, wherever in the palace she’s been hiding, grab her by the shoulders, and _shake._ I’m _your friend, too,_ she’d say. _Decidedly_ not _chopped liver._

And it’s not exactly like she can just hang out with Perseus alone. In fact, she’s not even sure how to go about _contacting_ the prince. Is she even allowed? 

Not that she’d even want to, if she could, of course.

Nico is just as unpromising an option, for obvious, he-hates-everyone reasons—though, recalling the look of understanding they’d shared at the Cotillion, Annabeth’s starting to feel like he hates her slightly less than most people, which for Nico, is shining praise.

So she’s back to hanging out with Jason. She asks him to get lunch when he’s not working, and when they do, he teases her shamelessly for “remembering he exists,” and Annabeth is sheepish, even a little guilty, though it’s clear he’s only joking. 

“I get it, I get it,” he insists, “the nobility are more _intriguing_.”

“It’s not like that—” she tries to protest, but he waves it away, and their friendship, which has always been simple and easy, picks up like there’d been no pause. Jason even invites his fiancée, Piper, to eat with them one day. She’s shockingly beautiful, but a different type of beauty than the one Annabeth’s gotten used to seeing here, all expensive and perfectly-tailored. She’s funny, and fierce, too. She tells Annabeth about how she's one of the last of the original old Americans left after the war. Annabeth tells her that she used to love the stories about the tribes as a girl, so Piper tells her some more in secret tones, about sneaky magic and curses and love and nature. The girls quickly decide that they like each other more than Jason and make plans to hang out without him. 

They fall into a familiar routine. When she knows he’s on the late-night shift outside in her hallway, she cracks open her door, laptop in hand, and sits legs crossed against the door, and they talk for hours. She fills him in on meeting King Luke, and complains about Calypso’s disappearing act, and, like usual, he gives her all the palace gossip and updates her on Piper.

One night, when she can’t sleep, she opens her door and comes face to face with a guard that’s stern-faced, greying, and decidedly _not_ Jason. Her mouth gapes open for a second, and embarrassed, she shuts the door behind her and marches purposefully out of the hallway and unto the elevator, tucking her laptop under her arm like this is what she had _meant_ to do. There are not many places in the palace where wearing fuzzy socks and sandals would be acceptable, and with this in mind she lets her feet lead her to another thing just as familiar and welcoming as a talk with Jason from her first couple of weeks at the palace: an old twenty-four-seven restaurant no one ever went to in one of the more hotel-like wings of the palace. 

Or, that Annabeth had _thought_ no one ever went to. 

Prince Perseus is sitting at one of the tables up front, head bent over a plate, and Annabeth considers pulling another runner. She figures facing the guard in her hallway again would be way less mortifying than having to talk to a prince in her too-short New City University pajama bottoms and fake-designer prescription glasses from high school— _anything_ would be less mortifying than whatever impending situation is about to unfold in this restaurant if she doesn’t leave. In fuzzy socks, no less.

Annabeth has never met a man more perceptive than Perseus Jackson, though, and he looks up at her before she has a chance to move. The lighting in the restaurant is low, and the shadows do odd things to His Highness’s face, cast long, lash shaped lines over his cheeks.

“Annabeth,” he says. “Hey.” 

Or maybe he says, “Hello,” because that's more like him, or even just, “Annabeth,” because as her name slips from his lips, lazy and incessant, two syllables become one, and that, too, is his own brand of greeting. At any rate, she’s never heard him say “hey” before.

“Sit with me,” he offers, so she slides into the booth across from him, high-water pajama bottoms forgotten. If he thinks it’s odd that Annabeth is here this late—early, really—he doesn’t comment, maybe because it’s odder still that the prince is in the same place. 

But neither of them acknowledge those things because it’s late, and Annabeth’s suddenly weary and tired, and everything is of so much less import at this time of the night that’s technically morning. When the waitress comes over, she takes her order of black coffee, stuttering as she offers sugar and cream, and that’s when Annabeth scolds herself for not noticing the couple of guards placed ever-still around the restaurant. 

She eyes the prince sat across from her over the top of her laptop. He’s eating the toast carefully, with a fork and a knife and the kind of concentration a less-royal man would reserve for gold leaf garnished caviar, or something equally as ridiculous and expensive. 

He doesn't look up until the waitress returns with her mug. Annabeth shifts underneath his stare, feels like she has to explain. Which is absurd because she’d come here for months and not seen another person. It’s _her_ restaurant. 

“I come here to write…sometimes,” she adds, because otherwise, it feels like a lie. 

He clears his throat. “Have you ever heard of the Peter Principle?

“The—. What?” Annabeth responds, because she _had_ heard him, but he’d been staring at her in a way that had made her think he was about to say a dozen other things.

“It’s an Old America book about business. It’s popular.”

"It sounds…familiar,” Annabeth lies. It’s no use to be an English major who knows nothing about popular books.

Percy grins. “Basically, these two guys came up with this rule—that every different business is its own hierarchy, and as the employees get promoted for doing well at their current positions, they eventually get a job that they’re incompetent at.”

Annabeth furrows her eyebrows. “So, like, a really good teacher gets promoted to principal…and then she sucks at it?”

“Exactly like that.”

Realization dawns, and she’s not exactly less stupefied at him being here, tie loosened with butter on his cheek, looking haggard and _done,_ but it makes a little more sense now. “So you’re the perfect prince, incompetent king?”

He raises an eyebrow. “I feel like that, sometimes.”

Annabeth’s ears feel hot. “No offense.” 

He purses his lips to keep from laughing at her, and it gives her the courage to say, “I never know what to say to you. It’s like— I don’t know. Only glittery praise or,” she draws a finger across her neck, “it’s my head.”

The prince frowns. “Say anything,” he tells her. Like everything he says, it’s an order and not a request. “I like…I like when people are honest.”

She lets this admission roll over her, then closes her laptop and looks him in the eye, trying her best to communicate that he _can_ trust her, that she wants to know him deeper than whatever’s just going in this book. “Does it really stress you out that badly?”

He relaxes deeper in his chair, considering this. “Between the bombing, people rallying to disband the monarchy, and life-long curse, you mean? It feels sometimes like I’m playing God. Messing with people's lives. It’s not. . . It isn’t right. From inside these walls, that’s all it feels like I’m in charge of — these walls. ”

And Annabeth’s never been poor, never been hungry, but it makes her nervous when she remembers that Percy—the future of their country—has never experienced an average life. Never been denied anything he _wanted_ . He’s a smart, sympathetic person, yes, but it’s different from being _empathetic_. Different from being able to relate. He’ll never relate. And yet he decides for the people who do? “It’s weird, yeah.”

He shakes his head at her. 

There’s a beat, and then Annabeth says, “So you’re an anti-monarchist.”

Another beat, and then—he bursts into laughter. 

For like two straight minutes.

He’s literally gasping for breath, and Annabeth’s so confused, but his laugh is so contagious that she can’t help but join him. “What? _What?”_

He hiccups. “So are,”— _wheeze_ —“so are _you!_ ”

This sends her over the edge, too. They laugh until Percy clutches his stomach and Annabeth has to take a couple of large gulps from the giant coffee mug to hide her definitely blotchy face behind. 

Percy coughs into his arm. “I knew it from the minute I met you. I couldn’t stop thinking about you…” It’s his turn to blush, and he does so, brilliantly. “Thinking about what was off about you, I mean.” 

“I wouldn’t say I’m anti-monarchy. I’m just…I want to be sure that the people in charge are good people.”

“And?”

She raises an eyebrow. “And they are… mostly.”

Percy laughs again, smug. It’s a pealing, deep rumble from his chest that is as delicate as the faeries in children’s stories and as enchanting, too. Annabeth loves this sound, she decides. “Well, I wouldn’t say I’m anti-monarchy, either.”

“You better not, _Your Highness,_ ” Annabeth quips but then smiles so he knows she’s joking, too.

“But I do agree. The people in charge need to be good.”

“We could start a _Good People in Government Positions_ club,” Annabeth offers.

“I like that. GPGP.” 

For a moment, Annabeth can understand why Calypso had fallen so hard, so deep, so fast, curse or not. For a moment, she understands Nico, too, and Estelle and Tyson, and what it would be like to do anything for that laugh.

She’s confused. Quickly, she says, “You’re a messy eater. For a prince, anyway.”

He laughs and dabs at his face with a napkin, exactly at the spot on his cheek, as if he knew it was there. “Incompetent, remember?”

He smiles, and it’s a different type of smile than she’s ever seen from him, and for a weird minute, she wonders suddenly if he _knows_ that this is _her_ restaurant. Then he stands, and he’s exactly the crown prince again, and the thought vanishes. “I’ll let you write. Make me sound competent, I'm begging you.”

She bites her lip, nods.

Percy glances down at her mouth for just a second. Then shakes his head, imperceptibly. “I like your socks."

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love the Percabeth scenes. Just remembered this is a Percabeth story and I should write them together more. Maybe. LOL  
> Betweentowns


	18. Charity Begins at Home

Calypso had been right. “Did you _see_ ,” she demands, barging into Annabeth’s room without even a knock, followed by an exasperated Jason mouthing _sorry._

Annabeth scoots back from her desk and rolls her eyes at Jason, who shuts the door again. “Did I see what?”

“They broke up. Percy and that Dare girl. Didn’t I say it? A month, exactly! And Estelle said redheads were his type. Ha!”

“Did she ever say that?” Annabeth asks politely. 

Calypso groans. “Nevermind that now. Let’s have ice cream sundaes and go swimming.”

“Why did they break up?”

“I don’t know. It was last week, apparently. Dare posted on Twitter that he did it over text Friday morning before the Director of Monarch Online Appearances made her take it down. But I screenshotted,” she says, tugging her phone from her back pocket. “Look.”

 **_@RED:_ ** **That moment when** **@** **HRHPerseus dumps you on iMessage. #fuckyou #jedétestemavie**

“Oh my gods,” Annabeth says.

“I know, right? I wonder what that last bit in French says. Something about her being suicidal, hopefully.”

Annabeth’s too shocked to even comment on how terrible Calypso is being to someone she doesn’t even know. “Oh my gods,” she repeats.

“What? I’m kidding,” Calypso snaps. “Lighten up.

Thursday night she had sat with the prince and laughed with him about Peter Principles.

Friday morning he had dumped Rachel Elizabeth Dare. 

“Oh my gods,” Annabeth says one more time, for good measure. 

Calypso eyes her. “It’s not _that_ crazy.”

“Sorry,” Annabeth says, managing to close her gaping mouth. “I just can’t believe she’d tweet that.”

“I know. Isn’t it great? So, icecream, right? Pool?”

“I can’t,” Annabeth replies, tugging her arm back as Calypso was already attempting to pull her out of her desk chair. 

“Why not?”

“Calypso, you haven’t talked to me in weeks. I texted, called you. Waited for you at our brunch spot. Multiple times. Alone.”

“And?” she demands. “What does that have to do anything?”

Annabeth swallows. “I mean, you can’t just keep waltzing in and out of my life. That’s not what friends do.”

Calypso flinches. “I was going through something. I was fucking busy.” 

“Well now _I’m_ busy. There’s a charity event I have to go to today for a chapter in my book about the prince’s orphanage.”

“Fine, then.” Calypso huffs. “I’m guessing you want an _apology_.” She says the word like it’s dirty.

Annabeth shrugs.

“Too bad.” She tugs open the door and slams it on her way out.

Jason pulls it back open only a minute later and whistles low. “You pissed her off.”

“I know—it felt _good.”_

* * *

The Prince is dressed the most casually Annabeth’s ever seen him today, and his lax outfit seems to echo his mood. As always, his mood is contagious.

There’s a charity event in the Great Hall for the kids from a local orphanage in New City. Annabeth remembers news of the facility being opened on Percy’s sixteenth birthday, as a humanitarian project.

She’s read that he’d met all the kids enrolled in person and that the palace sponsors the most magnificent care and education for them all. But she hasn’t realized how true that really was. Percy calls them each by name, and she watches all their faces light up as he does.

It’s clear the children are comfortable with him, too, or maybe they're just kids and not yet self-conscious enough to care how they behave around a prince.

They’re all about elementary age, still sporting toothy smiles with gaps and hopeful faces.

A photographer is snapping pics as he laughs with the little kids.

One day, one of these pictures of him—well-fitting jeans and T-shirt and expensive canvas sneakers and artfully messy hair—will end up in some shitty teen magazine. The caption will be something like, _King Perseus attending a charity event at age 21. Wasn’t he such a catch?_

The thought makes Annabeth smile. But he really does look all youthful and carefree prince today, all easy smiles and winks. His attitude is contagious, and the kids are all chattering and tugging him around to their tables to see their artwork. He does as he’s told, and it’s just wonderful and endearing, the whole idea of a crown prince being ordered about by little children.

After the event is over, he’s clearly exhausted yet satisfied. It’s interesting how fueled he is after a heated debate compared to how drained he seems after wearing a smile for a few hours. It’s truly all backward.

Annabeth tells him as much, as he stops to say hello to her as people trickle out of the Great Hall. 

“What can I say,” Percy says. “I’m an enigma.”

She giggles. “An incompetent one.” 

“That’s no way to talk to a prince, Wise Girl.”

“That’s no way to talk to a prince’s biographer, Seaweed Brain.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Seaweed Brain?”

She shrugs. “I figure _something_ has to be swimming up there. It’s certainly not a brain.”

He fake gasps as she leans forward to lightly knock on his head. “See, full of kelp!” she jokes, trying to not notice that his dark hair is as soft as she’d imagined. Many times. 

“Annabeth… ” the prince murmurs her name, and it’s not a hello or goodbye, but a question, unasked. He catches her hand in his lightly, as she removes it from his head and his fingers, long and nimble, wrap around her wrist. She’s about to answer the unspoken question, witty, maybe with a question of her own, when she looks down at where their skin meets. The silver watch on his wrist has caught the sunlight oddly, deflecting a ray of light into her eyes. Her train of thought leaves her, and not in the sort-of romantic way it had a second ago, and instead she finds herself saying, “Your watch…”

“Huh?” Percy lets go of her wrist. The moment—whatever it was—is gone. “My watch?”

“Yeah. I’ve, uh, noticed it before,” she replies, stupidly and quickly. But she had—the only thing old looking on a boy that screamed absolutely new.

His eyebrows draw together, but he says, “It was my mother’s.” His words are short and clipped like he doesn’t want to be here anymore, and his body pivots slightly like he’s making to leave the hall.

But Annabeth’s not done. “She gave it to you?”

Percy sighs, his face pained. “When she knew she was dying, she took it off and left it in my baby blanket.”

He turns towards the door, and his usual guards have moved to flock him. She hadn’t even noticed that they were the last ones left in the Great Hall. Annabeth decides not to push it, even though the matter seems worth pushing, now that she’s clearly already ruined everything, and especially because the subject had made him inexplicably upset, more uneasy looking than she’s ever seen him. But she’s going to drop it, really, she tells herself, when he pauses in the entryway. His face is conflicted when he turns back to look at her. “Her initials are engraved on the back,” he says, eyes flickering from the watch’s face to Annabeth’s. 

“Can I see?” her voice goes soft. She’s forgotten completely how young he is, because of all the things about the prince, that is the easiest to forget. Percy is younger than her, even. But she can’t help but remember it now, that he’s still just a kid—one who grew up worried about all the wrong things.

He strolls over to her like a prince, though, unclasping the watch in one easy movement. He stops in front of her, standing so close that she actually has to crane her neck to see his face, and slides it off with some difficulty—his wrists are narrow but his palm stretches wide. His arm is paler, nearly paperwhite where it had been resting, and when he places it in Annabeth’s hand, the metal is warm.

This is somehow more intimate than before when he’d slid his hand around hers, and they’re not even touching. She hears him suck in a breath.

Annabeth says, “What if I knew—”

“How to break the curse?” He asks.

Annabeth nods.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're almost, sort of, kind of, getting to the end! Mostly. I hope.
> 
> Betweentowns


	19. Desk of Glass

Nico is waiting outside Percy’s office when Annabeth storms in.

He has to admit, if only to himself—there’ s something disarming about her. She’s like no one else he’s ever met in this palace (not that he’s met many  _ out  _ of this palace.) But Annabeth can hold her own here, all the same: she stands tall and doesn’t take no as an answer, in a subtle way that you have to be looking to notice. He can see why Calypso likes her, even why Percy doesn’t mind that Cal totes the new girl around like one of her designer purses.

Nico, on the other hand, can’t find it in himself to feel as warm and welcoming to her. He thinks highly enough of her, sure, but he doesn’t think trust is something to be doled out and spread on anyone's shoulders who asks it. You have to earn favor and  _ earn  _ always constitutes  _ time,  _ to Nico.

“I need to talk to the prince,” Annabeth tells Percy’s secretary, Silena, a sweet, bubbly girl who had just gotten the job last year, fresh out of college. Nico knows she brings Percy an iced chai latte every morning because he’d told her he doesn’t drink coffee, but he hadn’t had the heart to tell her he doesn’t drink tea, either. 

Nico answers Annabeth from his spot on one of the hard plastic chairs lined before the secretary’s desk and the door to Percy’s office, and only because he’s curious as to why she’s  _ telling  _ and not  _ asking,  _ because that’s typically more her style. “He’s busy. I’d sit down.”

Annabeth spins on her heel. She’s wearing canvas sneakers that may have once been white, and they’re yelling that she doesn‘t belong here, in this high-ceiling room that leads to the desk of the Crown Prince of Olympus. It’s obvious that she hadn’t noticed Nico waiting, too, because she looks surprised at the sight of him.

But she doesn’t back down. “It’s an emergency.”

Nico scoffs. Silena says, cheerily, “Is it life or death?”

Annabeth frowns. “I—”

“I’d sit down,” Nico repeats. 

Annabeth does, right next to him, which is not what he’d asked. Her laptop is clutched under her right arm tight, and he waits for her to say something, because it’s not as if his antisocial act has turned her off before—like, along the lines of why she’s here, at eleven at night, claiming an emergency. He wonders, idly, if he should tell her of Percy’s disdain for crying wolf, but then he remembers that he owes her nothing. And that it would probably be very enjoyable to watch her find this out herself.

When she remains quiet, though, he doesn‘t complain. They sit in silence except for the  _ click click click-clack  _ of Silena’s laptop keys, and every once in a while, she answers the phone: “Hi, you’ve reached the desk of Crown Prince Perseus Jackson! Prince Perseus won’t be taking any more calls tonight, but I’ll gladly take a message!”

It’s maybe half an hour later when Percy comes out of his office. Nico isn't sure if it’s really been that long because he hasn‘t bothered to check, but he figures it’s a good guess—anything shorter and Annabeth surely wouldn't have been dozed off enough to be startled awake by the click of the door opening.

Percy’s tie is loose and he’s lost his suit jacket from earlier that day. The first two buttons on his collared shirt are undone, too, but really none of these things change so much as his normally perfect and controlled appearance as his expression—his face is haggard and loose, almost blank. He looks how he sometimes does after a particularly taxing conference call, and it’s clear he had only been expecting Nico, because all these things show on his face clearly.

He only sees Annabeth, who looks almost as tired, after a long pause, and he’s so surprised by her that he struggles for a second to fix his features into something more reminiscent of one of his for-the-palace set of expressions. It leaves him stuck in between well-dressed zombie and badly-dressed and smiling politician. “Oh. Annabeth.”

Against his better instincts, Nico  _ has  _ to listen carefully as to better gauge how Percy says her name. It’s not  _ Annabeth _ like  _ Calypso,  _ but it’s not like  _ my sister Stella,  _ either. It’s just, Annabeth. Like he doesn‘t even know what the name is to him yet.

“Your Highness,” Annabeth responds. Some of her blonde curls have come out in thick strands that won’t fall down under the threat of gravity. She’s staring unabashed and greedy at this drowsy, heavy-lidded Percy and Nico doesn‘t blame her, only resents her. Oh, to have a reason to study Percy’s face like that. It’s hard to come up with one after spending so many years thinking up so many.

Percy shakes his head the way people do when pretending they can clear their minds with physical force. He looks at his secretary, and for a second his face is perplexed. He frowns slightly. “You can go home, Lena. I’m sorry—I didn’t realize how long I’d be on with UK’s PM.”

Silena begins to gather her stuff promptly, and Percy turns to Nico and Annabeth. He half-smiles. “The Prime Minister had his 14-year-old son read me his thesis about why Olympus should adopt our own PM. I’ll admit the kid is very bright, though, somehow, I’m busy with other things at the moment. To what’s the pleasure, Annabeth?” 

“I found something…” Annabeth starts, then looks to Nico tentatively, as Silena slips out of the room behind them. She'd stood from her chair when the door had opened, and Nico was still sitting with his ankles and arms crossed. “About, you know, what we talked about the other day.”

Percy looks at Nico, too, then waves them both into his office. “You can speak freely. Nico knows my every other secret.” Nico puffs his chest out at this to ignore the fact that even if only for a few days, there was knowledge in the world about Percy that Annabeth knew and  _ he _ didn’t.

Percy’s office is a simple thing, and Nico still remembers it mainly as what it used to be when they were young—a barren playroom with empty furniture. It’s as big as a master bedroom, with a large glass desk in the middle and not much else. It had made Nico sad to imagine Percy constantly sitting beside it, nothing to do but work. Now, at least the desk is covered with papers, and a huge monitor laptop like a flat-screen TV, but when they were small enough that there will still enough hours in the day to be set aside for play, they would come in here and laugh and fool around for hours. Estelle and Tyson would lie underneath the glass desk while Calypso, Luke, and Percy would lay on top, pressing their noses against it and making funny faces that fogged up the glass with little-kid breath.

Even back then, Nico would sit in one of the chairs across from the big one behind the desk they all could never imagine Percy fitting into and laugh. Even at seven years old, Nico was a watcher. 

Nico takes one of those two chairs across from Percy now, and Annabeth sits next to him in a huff, sliding her laptop open in one practiced motion.

She takes just a minute to slide her eyes around the office, which she must be seeing for the first time, and then turns to Nico. “I had this theory—I think I know how to break his” she jerks her head towards Percy, “curse.”

Nico raises his eyebrow at Percy, who is hovering above his desk chair, arms folded over the top. “It’s not possible.”

Percy slides his watch off slowly. It’s not for dramatics; it’s a weary, tired motion. It takes Nico a minute to connect the action with Annabeth’s shaky admission, and another minute to think about why seeing this happen is so weird—then realizes Percy has never taken it off in front of him, not since he’d grown up enough for it to actually fit around his wrist years ago.

“I thought we agreed to stop trying. We’ve already tried  _ everything.  _ People got hurt.  _ You  _ got hurt.” Nico reminds Percy. “I don’t understand.”

Percy places the watch on the desk so that the face is against the glass. The back is engraved  _ SJ. Sally Jackson.  _ Nico imagines them as kids under the desk, staring back.

“My mother left me the watch. Annabeth thinks—. Well, Annabeth?”

Annabeth takes a breath. “I have a friend, Piper McLean. She’s Old American. And she told me a story about this, this  _ curse-breaking  _ spell, that she heard about as a kid. All you need is an Old American person or descendant to recite the spell in their language, all the people affected by the curse, and then the actual person the curse was originally cast on. ”

Nico manages to bark a laugh. “So we’re going off of fairy tales now.” 

He waits for Percy to back him up, but Percy’s shaking his head. “This is different.”

“Different how?” Nico demands. “I don’t need to remind you that we’ve  _ tried  _ Old American spells already, do I? Or that the Americans—who  _ your  _ great-grandfather pillaged and stole land from, weren’t exactly too eager to help a member of the royal family.”

Annabeth interrupts. “Piper can speak their language, and I’m close friends with her family. She said she’s willing to help. She saw the actual spell a while ago. It works. Besides, I think I know why everything you tried never actually worked. This spell requires the person the curse was cast on.” 

“Yes,” Nico says impatiently, “They  _ all  _ do.”

“Except that person isn’t Percy.”

“Yeah, it’s Kronos himself.” Nico scoffs, throwing his hands up. 

But Annabeth pays him no mind, turning to grab Percy’s mother’s watch from the desk. She holds it carefully, and her voice is just as careful when she says, “The curse was cast on Percy’s  _ mom.  _ Sally Jackson. It was  _ her  _ the sorcerer was mad at, not Percy. He wanted to punish her.”

Percy takes his bottom lip in between his teeth.

Annabeth continues. “Obviously she’s not around to be in the breakage spell, but the watch she gave to Percy was hers, and now it’s  _ his,  _ both of theirs. She wore it all her life, and Percy’s worn it most of his.”

Percy lets out a breath Nico hadn’t seen him take. “So we can use it in place of her.”

Annabeth nods. “Piper thinks so. And it feels right to me.”

“Okay,” Percy says. He looks at her, gaze serious. “Okay.”

“ _ Percy,”  _ Nico groans. He sounds whiny, and he hates this, but can’t help himself. Percy is not the only person this fucking curse has hurt, and they’d all agreed together that it hurt too much to keep trying to break it when nothing works, anyway. And they’d all been at peace with that— _ Percy  _ had been at peace with that. He can’t help but wonder why all of a sudden it matters so much to him again. Certainly, he isn’t falling for—. Nico refuses to think it.

“Wait. Let’s not rush into this.” The absurdity of this all—the three of them huddled in here at nearly witching hour debating this in whispered voices—is giving him a headache.

“It’s okay. I trust Annabeth,” Percy assures, his confident, all-royal voice back on.

Annabeth, who wasn’t there the nights when  _ Nico  _ used to comfort Percy as he cried out for a mother he never knew. Annabeth, who didn’t sit through a hundred of rituals and prayer circles throughout the years, hand in Percy’s telling him it would work this time. 

“This isn’t different,” Nico insists. “The point of an unbreakable curse is just that: it’s  _ unbreakable.” _ He lowers his voice and forces it to sound logical, comforting. He channels Calypso, the way she used to be for Percy, when she wanted. 

Annabeth stands up, like she recognizes this change in tone as her cue to leave. “I can get you Piper’s number,” she says lamely. 

Percy nods. “Please do. Come to breakfast tomorrow. And do me a favor: Let’s not tell Calypso just yet. I don’t want to get her hopes up. Please,” he repeats.

And Nico thinks that he’s right  _ here,  _ getting his own hopes up. 

Annabeth half-smiles. “Sure.”

“Thank you, Annabeth. Really.”

She smiles again. Then hesitates, as if she’s waiting for Nico to say something, too.

The boys watch her walk out. 

“Percy,” he says as soon as she leaves you can’t actually be thinking about this. “With everything going on—the bombing, the treaty, the antimists in the news every other day—”

“I know what’s happening in  _ my  _ country,” Percy says simply.

“This isn’t just about you.” And they don’t talk about this, it’s off-limits. That Nico is just as stuck in this palace as Calypso is. 

“I know it’s not! But let’s not pretend, Nico, that  _ I’m _ the one who is so fucking afraid of anything to change! Sometimes I think you don’t even  _ want  _ the curse broken, that you like watching me like this, afraid to find happiness!”

“Oh,” Nico says.

“I—”

“You’re worse than Cal sometimes, you know that?” Nico stands from his chair. His throat burns.

“I shouldn’t have said that.”

“Yeah, you shouldn't have.”

Nico leaves. He wonders to himself that if Percy keeps pushing him away, maybe at some point he’ll learn to stay away. But isn‘t that the irony? He never can. 

  
  



	20. Royally Fucked

“…And then I got naked. Completely stark naked.”

“Wait. What?” Annabeth interrupts.

“I’m kidding,” Jason sighs, holding the door to the grand staircase so Annabeth can pass through. “You’re not listening to me at all. I was telling you about the movie Piper and I saw last week, remember?”  
“Oh,” Annabeth feels her cheeks pinken. “I’m sorry. I’m just…”

“Distracted?”

“Yeah.”

“We’re here.” Jason pauses outside the door to the Prince’s quarters. Annabeth makes to go around him, but he stops her. “Why are you overthinking things? You’re doing a good thing here. Even if it goes wrong, at least you tried.”

“It’s not just the ritual. I just feel so in over my head. Calypso’s mad at me, I’m afraid to let Percy down, and the book. Shit, I haven’t written in days. I’m…royally fucked. ”

Jason frowns. “It’s not your fault about Calypso and if Per— I mean, His Highness is a good friend like you’ve said, there’s nothing to worry about. Besides, Piper is really confident about the ritual, and if I know you, Annabeth Chase, I know that you’ve worked hard enough that you’re  _ ahead  _ with writing, even if you haven’t worked for a couple of days. It’s not so bad to take a break once in a while, you know.”

Annabeth smiles. She doesn’t deserve Jason as a friend. “Thanks. That actually helped. Speaking of… When’s  _ your  _ break, huh? You’re here every day, lately,” she accuses. 

“Security’s been tight since the bombing. And anyway, gotta save those days for the honeymoon, you know?” He wriggles his eyebrows at her. 

“Ugh. Gross.”

“Shut up. You go be gross with the Prince of Olympus now.”

“That is so  _ not  _ what’s happening!”

“Sure, sure,” he grins and gestures for the guards at the door to let Annabeth in. She waves at him.

“Percy,” she says when she’s on the balcony. He looks up from where he’s balancing a piece of cantaloupe on a fork in one hand and his phone in the other. He looks breezy compared to last night—freshly showered and shaved. He’s cutting a kingly figure in a well-fitting navy suit. 

“Annabeth. Hi.”

She sits. “Sorry I’m a little late. I was… talking to… someone.”

He gives her a funny look, but she’s not about to rat on Jason. It can’t be proper for a palace guard to be so talkative with guests. “No problem. I hope you don’t mind that I’ve started without you. I invited Calypso, but she never responded.”

Annabeth laughs and helps herself to some yogurt and fruit. “It’s a long story, but I think she’s mad at me.”

“I also invited Nico. But I think  _ he’s  _ mad at  _ me.  _ So just the two of us,” he ends. But doesn’t seem to mind this.

Good.

She also doesn’t mind. 

Percy puts his phone down and pulls out his chair so he’s looking directly at her. Their knees brush. “It makes me miss my siblings a little,” he muses. “Though I’ll royally execute you or something if you repeat that.”

Annabeth laughs. The sound comes out breathless, and she mentally kicks herself. It’s his  _ knee  _ for fuck’s sake. 

“I’m glad you’re here though,” he continues.

“Me, too,” she says. And she’s not imagining that he’s looking at her lips right now. 

“Annabeth,” Percy starts.

_ Percy,  _ she thinks, then leans in.

The chair scrapes as Percy pulls back.

“I’m sorry. We shouldn’t, Annabeth.”

“What the hell?” she demands. Her cheeks are on fire. 

Percy hesitates. “I didn’t mean to lead you on, but I’m being selfish. It’s selfish for me to want you like that. It’s selfish for me to ever want anybody. With the curse. I’m scared. I don’t want you to—”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Annabeth snaps, more cruelly than she’d intended, but she feels embarrassed and hurt that he’d pulled away like that.  _ He  _ was the one who’d been flirting with  _ her  _ for weeks. “I’m not in love with you.” 

“I didn’t mean—”

“Ugh. Me neither.” 

They both take a deep breath. “We’re so close to figuring out this curse,” Annabeth points out. This is unfair, and they shouldn’t be discussing this when they’re both flushed and illogical. And their knees are still touching. 

But she doesn’t care. At this point, she just wants to kiss him. Percy is the one who leans in this time. “So don’t be scared,” she adds. 

“Okay,” he says. His breath mingles with hers. He’s so fucking close and smells like the ocean for some fucking reason, the good parts that remind her of the sun on her freckles and ice cream on her tongue. 

He slides his hand around her waist and she’s in his lap in one easy movement. Hades, his hand is huge. “I trust you,” he murmurs, and lets his eyes slide shut. 

And then they’re kissing. 

And she’s a bit occupied right now, but later Annabeth will make a list of all the sweetest things she’s ever tried: fresh mango and milk chocolate, maple syrup and peach gelato—this, and then some, is what Percy Jackson’s mouth tastes like. 

She slides a hand along his neck into his hair, because she’d been dying to do this, and what’s even the point of kissing a prince if she can’t inform Piper later in detail exactly how his hair feels. These are the words she will use: silky, fluffy,  _ lustrous…  _

Percy groans, a guttural noise she feels in her chest. “Annabeth.”  
She pulls back a fraction to consider him, hair mussed, lips swollen, eyes alert. _She’d_ done that. “Percy. _Please_ stop trying to be noble.”

He laughs at her. “No—I was going to ask if you wanted to go inside.” Inside… where that big bed is. 

“Oh.” she shifts in his lap, and he groans again. 

“No pressure,” he adds. “Of course.” And he knows he means this, because he’s  _ Percy,  _ and his voice is so genuine, and his hands have never even strayed from their firm hold around her waist. 

So they go inside.

There’s an awkward minute when Percy has to not-so-subtly dismiss the guards from his door, and then again as Annabeth is attempting to sexily slide off her shoes but the lace is stuck. Percy sits on the bed and lifts up her foot and does it for her.

“Bad time to make a Cinderella joke?” she asks quietly. Her heart’s in her throat.

“Who?”

“It’s an old fairy tale? You know, the princess? Glass slipper?”

He stares at her.

“You’re hopeless,” she groans, pushing him onto his back.

“What happened to incompetent?”

“Shut up.”

He obliges. They find better uses of both their mouths.

There is a vein in his neck that she’s noticed becomes prominent when he’s stressed. She’s seen it far too often in the last couple of weeks. She kisses here first.

He places a hand at the bottom of her shirt. Don’t be a gentleman, she tells him. He isn’t, he assures her. 

Then he proves it.

Percy Jackson’s mouth—is it corny that she keeps lingering on it? Annabeth doesn’t care.

It’s trailing across her chest, leaving marks on her neck.

It’s wrapped around her nipple, and she cries his name.

It’s— _ shit,  _ exactly where she wants him most. “I’m not gonna last,” she warns, gasping.

He smirks at her—from between her thighs, no less—“That’s the point.”

“Fuck,” she murmurs. Then she sees stars.

She comes down from the orgasm, not sure if it’s been a minute or an hour, to Percy’s lips pressing lightly against her thigh, her stomach. She pulls him up to her face. She’s not nervous anymore.

“Still got more in you, Wise Girl?” he asks, grinning like the smug little shithead he is.

She rolls her eyes, but— “Yes.”

There’s nothing noble or gentleman like about the way he kisses her now. She can’t breathe, can’t think, all she knows is the places where their bodies touch. His lips on hers, his hand gripping her thigh tight, her own hand fumbling off his boxers.

“Condom?” he asks.

“Pill,” Annabeth says quickly. It’s not her smartest moment, but fuck, she can  _ feel  _ him against her. 

He fills her slowly, achingly slowly. “Okay?” he asks. His voice is hoarse.

She’s panting. “Yes. Perfect.” 

She wouldn’t have guessed it, but he’s a sloppy fuck. Pounding into her mercilessly, lips at her throat, hands tugging her hair and circling her clit. He moans her name—she never wants to hear it another way again.

Not prince-like at all. 

Still,  _ she’s _ feeling like a princess.

When they’re done, they lie shoulder to shoulder, sweating and breathing heavily. 

He slides a leg against hers. “I think I missed my meeting with a South African delegate. Oops.”

“You don’t sound too bothered,” she observes. She presses a foot against his calf. 

“I’m not.”

She turns to look at him, finally, only to find that he'd already been staring at her. “Should we talk about it?”

He shrugs. She feels the movement against her shoulder. “I trust you.”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't say I didn't put "royal sex" in the tags...There's only about 5 more chapters left now!  
> <3 Betweentowns


	21. Sorry 4 Being a Bitch

The second Annabeth leaves Percy’s room she’s heading straight for the palace doors. She must look crazy, hair a mess and shoes not laced, but she has to make sure.

She’s outside in minutes.

She takes a deep breath. Fuck. 

_ Don’t flatter yourself, _ she’d told him.  _ I’m not in love with you. _

And she’s sitting outside right now, hands threaded through the too-perfect artificial palace grass, wind in her hair. So she’s not.

But her heart is beating like there’s a different story. Traitorous thing.

_ Not a big deal, _ she tells herself. They’re about to break the curse, anyway.

She groans out loud. Then rushes back inside when two ladies in pantsuits give her a side-eye. 

* * *

Annabeth Chase is fooling around with the Prince of Olympus. 

She wants to scream it from the top of the palace rooftops, but she doesn’t, because:

_ One _ —There’s Calypso. While they’re not talking yet, Annabeth still feels guilty. And then not. And then guilty again.

_ Two _ —She’s lying to Jason, which she hates, but if she tells Jason, he will inevitably tell Piper and then that’s two more people knowing than she and Percy had discussed.

_ Three _ —Speaking of discussion, they hadn’t actually said  _ what  _ this was, other than the fact that it was their secret, at least for now. Not that they’d been doing a lot of  _ talking  _ recently. Annabeth can think of about fifty better uses of Percy Jackson’s mouth than talking. So far they’ve tried about fifteen of these things. She’s planning on them hitting fifty soon, though. Hey—she’s an overachiever.

And  _ four _ —Percy is, dare she forget, also the Prince of Olympus. She hasn’t forgotten Calypso telling her how Rachel Elizabeth Dare had been forced by the Director of Monarch Online Appearances to take down a tweet about him after  _ he’d  _ dumped  _ her.  _ Annabeth is definitely not ready to get mixed up with the Director of Don’t Tell Anybody You’re Fucking His Royal Highness Under Threat of Painful Death, or whatever. 

So she keeps it to herself. This is a secret she likes—running around the palace with Percy between court meetings and business lunches. It’s stolen kisses and quickies in weird rooms she’s never seen and her learning from a YouTube tutorial how to tie a tie so she can do his for him when they sneak into the throne room close before he has some meeting with some Prime Minister of Who Gives a Fuck.

But it’s also him trusting her, and her checking  _ The Peter Principle  _ out of the palace library and reading it with her feet in his lap while Percy checks his emails and reviews his daily briefings. It’s also stupid jokes:

“Hey, Annabeth?”

“What?”

“What do old kings worry about?”

“ _ Percy.” _

“A receding heir line! Get it?  _ Heir  _ line?”

Annabeth’s taking more walks outside the palace than usual, but all in all, shit’s good. Suspiciously, scarily so. Piper is practicing for the ritual and will be ready soon, Estelle and Tyson come home next week, and Annabeth has written more in the past couple weeks than she had in months.

“Okay, I have one,” Percy says one morning. They’re wrapping up breakfast on the balcony again.

She groans. Then smiles. “Shoot.”

“So this royal family moved into my neighborhood, right?”

“Right.”

“And guess what? They live Tudors down. Get it?  _ Tudors?” _

“You know it ruins it when you ask if I get it, right?”

He laughs, tugging her towards him. “Right.”

Okay, so this is a  _ thing _ , he very much likes Annabeth in his lap. 

She places a hand on his cheek and in her sweetest voice informs him, “You’re not even kind of funny.”

He leans in to peck her. “Luckily for you, I have many other good qualities.”

She raises an eyebrow. “Oh yeah?”

“Don’t pretend,” he says, voice low. “I’ll show you.” 

They’re kissing when the door to the balcony slams open.

It’s Calypso, holding what looks like a cake box and a large balloon in the shape of a...book? 

She freezes as Percy and Annabeth do the exact opposite, thrown into motion, Annabeth sliding off of him as he pushes away from her. 

“This isn’t—we weren’t,” he begins so quickly that it gives Annabeth whiplash.  _ Isn’t what?  _

But Calypso is backing away from the door, anyway. The cake has fallen to the floor. She’s crying. Annabeth has been waiting for her to start yelling and screaming and cursing them out but this—it’s so much worse. 

“Fuck,” she whispers. 

Annabeth’s stomach feels funny. Then she’s defensive. For fuck’s sake, Percy and Calypso weren’t even together anymore. She’s tired of everyone acting like they are. She hasn’t done anything wrong—even if her heart is pounding like she’d committed a crime. Traitorous thing.

Calypso says, quietly, “I was coming to apologize to you.” She lets go of the balloon and it floats off the balcony. Away from the palace and the mess inside it. 

Then Calypso is gone, too, nearly sprinting out the door. 

Percy’s voice is hoarse. “Cal!” He calls after her, then makes to follow. 

It’s like he’d forgotten Annabeth was there. 

“Let her go, Percy,” Annabeth begs. “Please.” 

His face contracts, apologetic. “I don’t know how to.”

“Just trust me.”

But he shakes his head at her. “You don’t understand.” 

Annabeth is left there on the balcony. There are tears running down her face too, and she’s not sure why. She’s remembering something Estelle had said to Percy months ago.  _ It’s time you see her for who she is.  _ But Annabeth can’t see him doing that. Annabeth can’t see any sort of future where Percy doesn’t always choose Calypso. 

She walks past the cake box on her way out and peers through the top. It’s strawberry, Annabeth’s favorite. It’s a little crushed, but there are frosting letters on the top in pretty cursive that spell,  _ SORRY 4 BEING A BITCH. _

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm quite literally churning these chapters out faster than I ever thought possible. That being said, I'm SO sorry for mistakes. Feel free to point them out. Also, I love comments. I thrive off of them and they make me want to write even faster. Thank you so much to everyone who leaves comments/kudos.  
> Betweentowns


	22. Phones

“Hi, Ms. Chase!”

“Um,” Annabeth responds, sitting up in bed and rubbing at her eyes. The phone that was sitting on the desk had rung. Which is only startling because it’s six a.m. And because Annabeth had thought it was a prop. “Hello?”

“Are you free to talk?”

“To who?”

“His Royal Highness.”

Annabeth groans. “Who is this?”

“Oh! My bad. This is Silena Beauregard! I work at the secretary's desk for—”

“I know who.” That explains the too-happy-for-this-early voice. “Tell him I can’t talk right now. Please.”

“Oh. Hold please.” Does she _have_ to sound like a deflated balloon? Damn it.

Annabeth groans again then tugs her comforter off. Well, she’s up now. She keeps the phone against her ear as she searches in the dark for her bedroom slippers and listens to shuffling in the background that sounds suspiciously like—

“—Tell her it’s an _emergency_ —”

“— it’s not an emergency, is it, Sir—”

“— don’t have to call me Sir, Silena—”

“—maybe you shouldn’t hound her—”

“—why do I even _pay_ you—”

Silena returns to the phone. “Ms. Chase?”

“Yes?” Annabeth says, voice weary.

“Well, when you can talk, feel free to call this extension back any time and I’ll put you through! And,” the voice lowers to a conspiratorial whisper. “I shouldn’t say this, but he does seem pretty upset.”

“Err, okay.”

“Have a lovely rest of your day!”

“Thanks.”

_Click_.

Annabeth rushes over to her door, hoping to catch Jason before his shift is over and he swaps with the other guard who watches this hallway. “I need advice.”

He grins. “I _thought_ I heard you yelling something that sounded like ‘suck ty knife’ into your pillow”

So she gives him the rundown as fast as she can. He only interrupts twice— "Wait you _slept_ with him?” and, “Aww. That’s a cute balloon idea.”

“. . .So, what do I do?”

He appraises her. “Honestly, I don’t know. Give it time?” 

“ _Jason._ That is the most generic advice ever.” 

“Yeah, duh,” he argues, “because it _works_ — _”_ he cuts himself off, suddenly, and puts his hand to his left ear, where his tiny black earpiece sits.

“What is it? Jason?”

But he ignores her, face paling. “Shit. Go back to your room, Annabeth.”

“Why? Tell me what’s happening.” Annabeth demands, just as the undetectable palace intercom begins to sound and alarms she’s never noticed blare and flash red lights. 

_AS A PRECAUTION, ALL GUESTS RETURN TO ROOMS, NORTHWEST WING GUARDS REPORT TO AREA’S 13 AND 14, INTERRAGOVERNMENT AUDIENCE MEMBERS—_

“Jason,” she repeats, not sure if he can even hear her over the noise. 

He pushes her back towards the door, shouts, “Stay in your room!” then runs off.

Annabeth pulls the door close. Her hands are shaking, and her mind is repaying the events of that day in Court when their glass box had exploded. She sits back on her bed, feeling nauseous. 

Her memory lingers on a specific detail—Calypso right before it had happened, knee shaking as she snapped at everyone for daring to look in her direction.

And another memory—Cal the next day at breakfast, acting even more temperamental than normal. 

And Jason—walking her to the balcony and saying, _Whoever did this didn’t_ really _want him dead._

And Tyson—reassuring Annabeth that _Anyone with a motive to hurt Percy has been arrested or taken into questioning._

Then Estelle—pointing at Calypso. _Then why is_ she _still here?_

And finally Percy, oblivious to Cal’s nasty comments and terrible personality, _every_ time. 

_Let her go,_ Annabeth had begged him.

_I don’t know how._

“Fuck,” Annabeth murmurs to herself, just as the phone rings. She rushes over to the wired phone by her bed for a second before realizing it’s just her regular cell phone.

“Annabeth?”

“Piper?”

“Annabeth, what’s going on?” Piper grills her, hysterical. “Jason was supposed to be home an hour ago, and he’s not answering his phone, and now the news is saying there’s been another bombing at the palace.”

“ _What?_ ”

“Aren’t you there right now?”

“I am,” Annabeth explains impatiently. “But an alarm sounded and all the guests have to remain in their rooms. What else did the news say?”

“I don’t know, I don’t know—I just turned it on. There’s no details, only one reported casualty.”

“Shit, Piper. Look, I’m sure Jason’s fine. I think he was with me until after it had already happened. I’ll call you as soon as I hear anything else okay?”

“Okay. Be safe, Annabeth.” 

_One casualty._ Annabeth picks up the room phone and dials the extension Silena had given her earlier. 

It rings for two minutes before finally beeping. 

“Silena?” Annabeth asks, holding her breath.

“ _Hi, you’ve reached the desk of Crown Prince Perseus Jackson! He’s not here right now, but feel free to leave a_ — _”_

She hangs up, the alarms still blaring in the background.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shit's going down. Sorry in advance. On a brighter note, we're really close to the end...  
> Betweentowns


	23. Blame

Annabeth doesn’t cry when Jason cracks open her door and says,

“He’s dead.”

She raises her head slightly from her desk, where’d she been sitting all day, shaky and agitated. She’s still in her pajamas. Now she just stares at him.

“Nico di Angelo,” Jason continues. “He dived in front of Prince Percy as the bomb went off and just—he saved the prince’s life. But no one could get to him in time.”

Annabeth sits up, alert. “What?  _ Nico _ ?”

Jason nods, solemn. “I’m not supposed to say anything, but the bomber…”

“It’s okay,” Annabeth says. “I know. Calypso.”

“You knew—”

“I put two and two together,” she explains, throat tight. “She was hurt, she decided he wasn’t worth it, the only way for her to be free from him, from this place…She wanted to kill him. I should’ve done something, I should’ve suspected after the first bomb—”

“Annabeth.” Jason’s voice is firmer than she’s ever heard it. “This isn’t in any way your fault.”

But Annabeth shakes her head. “Go home, Jason. Piper’s worried about you.” 

He glances at her one more time, face gaunt. Then he shuts the door. 

Her chest hurts. Nico. Nico.

No, she doesn’t cry.

At first, because she’s too busy clutching her stomach in crippling relief. Percy’s okay. He’s  _ okay. _

And then—because she’s rolling in the wave of shame that strikes her. Oh, Nico. 

* * *

When Annabeth was a freshman in college, a girl from her dorm hall she had barely known died of alcohol poisoning. Annabeth remembers that their hall had been closed off, and she and her roommate Thalia had huddled together, lost. 

The whole week feels like that: disbelief but without grief. 

Annabeth had only been sad because she knew that what had happened was unfair, that someone young had been robbed of their years. Because she knew her other friends, some of which had known that girl, would be upset. 

Every day, Jason knocks on her door and offers to walk her to the Palace foyer, where he explains that cars are waiting to transport any palace resident who wishes home. “People are scared,” he tells her. “It’s alright if you are, too.”

Annabeth shakes her head no every time, and she’s not putting up a brave face. She’s never felt unsafe in this palace. There is nothing here to scare her. 

So she stays. Every day for a week, food is delivered to her door—breakfast, lunch, dinner. At night, during his shift, Jason assures her that the ban will be lifted and she’ll be able to leave her room soon. Every morning, he reminds her that it’s alright to leave. 

Every morning, she politely refuses. 

Apollo calls. He’s as indifferent as ever, though a small undercurrent of worry colors his tone as he explains that Annabeth is totally and completely free to go home. She can return to the palace when it’s safer, or maybe not at all if she has enough content to finish her book. 

“There’s talk now that Prince Perseus’ coronation,” he admits, “might be pushed another year or two, anyway.”

Annabeth assures him that she’s fine, and she tells her parents too, when they ask. To her friends from home and college, to her brothers, everyone. Her younger brother Matthew wrestles the phone from her parents and demands, “What’s keeping you?”

“I don’t know,” Annabeth lies, because of course she knows. The more appropriate question is  _ who? _

Calypso is arrested. Jason tells her that “arrested” really means locked in her room. The public knows that there was a murder attempt on the prince’s life, but they’re not given a name. Even now, Percy is protecting Calypso.

The thought makes Annabeth feel sick. 

She’s not so surprising that Percy would defend Calypso over his own life, but over Nico’s, too? She’s planning on asking him this, and then yelling at him, and then asking him a hundred other questions, then yelling at him some more as soon as she sees him. 

And she should be used to this by now, really—but according to plan is  _ not _ how it goes down.

A week after Nico dies, her door opens, and Annabeth thinks back to last week when she had been so relieved that Percy was okay.

“Percy?”

Tha man standing in front of her right now is not okay. His best friend had died. Okay is a dirty word. Annabeth is a dirty person. It wouldn’t surprise her if termites were in her hair and there was mud caked on her skin. She pushes Percy off of her. Can’t he feel the dirt on her?

“Percy?” she repeats, because he’s looking right through her. It takes her a moment to realize why his presence here is so weird—he hasn’t stepped foot through that door since her first day in the palace when Calypso had introduced them and Tyson had stolen her chocolate.

He blinks at her. His eyes are red and his expression is so raw and in pain that she feels like  _ she’s _ intruding just by looking at him. 

She grabs his arm, tugging him inside. Toes the door shut behind them. She makes to let go of him, but then he’s in her arms. She’s not sure who had pulled who to who, but she holds tight to his waist as he wraps both arms around her and buries his face into the crevice between her neck and shoulder. His head fits perfectly there.

She’s minutely aware of the fact that she has been holed up in her room for a week depressed, definitely not taking as many showers as is socially acceptable. But Percy doesn’t seem to notice anything. 

“That night in my office,” he starts, voice muffled by her pajama top. He takes a deep, shuddering breath that fans out into Annabeth’s hair. Also a couple of days unwashed. 

“Yeah?” she says softly. She rubs his back.

“He had been waiting to talk to me. He was waiting to tell me something, but after you left, I never even asked him what.” Those are definitely tears she feels now. “I never asked him what.”

“Oh, Percy,” Annabeth says. A tear slides down her own cheek. Their bodies, flat against each other, shake, but from who’s sobs she’s not sure. “It was my fault. I never told Calypso that we had figured out how to break the curse. If only she knew she was almost free—”

Percy shakes his head against her. “No, Annabeth. _I_ made you keep it a secret.”

But she’s not done. “And then I lied. About, about us. I should have told her. Finding out like that—it pushed her over the edge.”

He pulls back and puts his hands firmly on her shoulders. “I should have told her. I owed her that much.”

She wants to hide from his gaze, imagining how her face must look. Wet and haggard and blotchy. But he is crying and tired too. “You didn’t owe her anything.”

“No,” he argues. “I spent all my time on  _ Calypso.  _ Making sure  _ Calypso  _ was alright, gifting Calypso a pool, apologizing for Calypso’s bad behavior. Making sure  _ she  _ wasn’t hurting. While the whole time, the  _ whole time,  _ I was fucking ignoring the person who was actually worth my attention. Because I was ashamed of him. Embarrassed by my own best friend. I deserve everything that’s coming to me. ” 

“Don’t, Percy. Don’t talk like that.”

“It’s true.” He’s looking past her again. “We need to do the ritual. I can’t—he can’t be buried here. I can’t let him be stuck here in death, too.”

“I’ll call Piper,” she whispers. Then wraps her arms around him again. She’s too much of a coward to keep looking at his face.

“He knew, Annabeth,” Percy cries. “He knew that he was almost free.”

They sway in the middle of her room like they can support one another when they know they can’t.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like this entire story has turned into: “He closed the door. She opened the door. Blah blah. Someone else closed it. Opened it again. Blah Blah. Lots of unnecessary dashes.”  
> At least I’m self-aware?   
> Thank you all for the enthusiasm for this story and for sticking with me for this many chapters. I promise there’s a happy(ish) ending coming. <3  
> Betweentowns


	24. Free

The ritual is this: Piper McLean, lithe and booming what feels like poetry in the Old American language. She explains to Annabeth later what the words mean in English.

_ While boys grow bigger,  _

_ Girl’s grow up, up, up _

_ Everyone bewitched  _

_ With Rome’s coy night sky _

_ For them days are faint _

_ Mornings tedious _

_ Off each tree hangs fruit— _

_ Venus, Mars, Saturn _

_ Jupiter, Mercury _

_ The sun is the moon _

_ And to them, clouds? Stars _

_ From dust some come  _

_ And to dust some return _

_ Others return to the sky _

_ Everyone bewitched _

“It’s a simple bewitchment curse,” Piper explains, shaking her head in disbelief.

“All this time,” Annabeth says, “and all it took was five minutes.”

Piper sighs. “I know. It’s almost as if the curse was never looking for something to break it, but a person.”

Annabeth raises her eyebrows. “A person?”

“You,” Piper explains. “You figured it out. He was waiting for you, even if he didn’t know it.”

Annabeth laughs, then shakes her head. “No, Piper,  _ you.  _ Thank you. Really.”

“Of course.”

The ritual is this: They do it on the palace grounds, sitting in the grass, Piper in the middle and the rest of them surrounding her—Tyson, Luke, and Estelle, returned from France for the funeral. Jason—for Piper’s moral support and surprisingly dashing out of his palace uniform. And Percy—pressing the watch into Piper’s hand, eyes averted and red as they have been lately.

“Do you feel any different?” Annabeth asks him.

He shrugs, “Relieved, I guess. But no, not really.”

She squeezes his hand. This is a thing they are doing, now, clutching each other’s hands in front of everybody. She supposes it doesn’t matter  _ so _ much, with the curse gone, anyway. But also, it matters the world. Tyson raises his eyebrows nearly to his scalp. Estelle rolls her eyes like she’d already known.

Luke is Luke. He embraces her as soon as sees her and proclaims, “Annabette.”

“Oh, hi,” Annabeth says, for some reason suddenly teary.

“Je vous adresse mes sincères condoléances,” he tells her, smile warm.

She starts to protest, feeling shitty accepting his condolences, but he cuts her off.

“Though you may not have lost the same friend we have,” he explains. “I know how close you became to Calypso. That is a loss we feel, too.”

Annabeth hugs him back, tight. 

The ritual is this: A curse, there, then suddenly not. It is a hint of relief in a puzzle of grief. It is friendships surviving, warm smiling and feeling thankful.

It’s Percy’s hand in Annabeth’s when he looks at her and tells her, “Thank you.”

And then it’s her heart, that traitorous thing, beating that age-old song of love when she knows he means it.

* * *

The funeral is as funerals are. 

It’s two hours away from the palace, in the mountains. The breeze makes it hard to hear the service, but the summer sun feels warm on Annabeth’s back. A freshly printed funeral program informs that they’re only minutes away from Nico’s childhood home. Annabeth can see the house, huge and made of stone, in the distance. Did Nico ever miss it? Did he have good memories there? 

Percy and Luke, Tyson and Estelle sit in the very front row of one side, with the King and Queen. The royals.

Leading the other rows of chairs is Nico’s family—his darkly handsome father and mother, who has a kind, heart-shaped face that she, for the most part, leaves buried in her hands. And a girl, with dark hair and high cheekbones. Nico’s sister Bianca, the funeral program explains. Annabeth had thought him an only child.

She’s sitting alone in the back behind rows and rows of people who she can’t imagine Nico ever showing any interest in. Suddenly she feels like an imposter herself. She can count on one hand all the words he’d ever said to her. Still, she knows he wouldn’t have wanted this: the open casket with all those eyes staring at him. In life, he had never been comfortable with eyes on him.

Mrs. di Angelo has to pull Bianca away from the box as she nears hysterics. Even his father can’t seem to look away from it. Annabeth watches Percy stand, stare down at it for a minute, then press his black sunglasses farther up the bridge of his nose. He’d been asked to speak, he’d told Annabeth after the ritual. But he’d politely declined. Everything he had to say to Nico was only for Nico. 

But Bianca gives a brief heartwarming speech about their childhood in the mountainside, how their mother had encouraged them to love hard and love always and how Nico had always done that. At the end, with a slight bite to her tone, she adds, “It makes sense that he would go like this. Giving his life for someone.”

There’s a section reserved for formally awarding Nico with an honorary military medal for bravery, too. He wouldn’t have wanted it. Calypso’s dad, The General presents the tiny golden thing, looking uncomfortable. Nico’s family doesn’t spare him a glance. 

After, they squeeze inside the di Angelo family home and pick at cheese and crackers. Annabeth waits outside for a car to bring her back to the palace. Estelle finds her sitting on the stone steps, looking at the mountains. 

“Hi.”

“Hi.”

Estelle sits next to her and spreads her arms. “Well, this is it.”

“The mountains?” Annabeth frowns, studying the landscape.

“No. Life. Life at the palace. Underneath the glamour it’s messy and complicated and terrible. If you remember, I tried to warn you not to get involved.”

“Well, you don’t have to worry about me anymore. My book is almost done.”

Estelle sighs. “Don’t get so defensive. I’m only telling you this because I  _ like  _ you.”

Annabeth turns around to stare at the princess. Who is pointedly not looking at her. “Oh.”

“And let’s not pretend your  _ book _ , or even Calypso, is what’s keeping you around. I’m sure you think there’s nothing to worry about with Percy, now that the curse is broken.”

“That’s not what I think,” Annabeth protests. 

“Good. Because it’s more complicated than that. While the rest of us spent our childhood’s learning, Percy spent his learning how to be a king. Sometimes I feel like he’s grown up to be a king. Not an adult.” Estelle clears her throat. “Just be patient with my brother, okay?”

Annabeth nods, just as her car rolls up into the driveway. 

“Or I’ll have you for supper,” Estelle adds, which is more like her. Then she smiles, which is less like her.

On the drive back Annabeth thinks of boys who had grown up away from the mountainside and boys who would grow up to be king. She wishes that both those little boys will find some freedom. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only two more chapters left!  
> Betweentowns


	25. Beaches & Mountains

_ I hate to ask you for another favor, but I’m not sure who else to ask. In all the time I’ve known her, no one else has been a better friend to Calypso, but you, Annabeth. See her with me? I know this is late. But pain is selfish. I’ve only just remembered that there are people other than myself. And yet somehow, the whole time, I was thinking of you.  _

_ Thinking of you still, _

_ Percy  _

Annabeth flips the letter over to the back, where on a regular piece of paper, Percy’s dark and intense handwriting would’ve pressed each letter into it for her to run her fingers across. Thinking of you.

She says yes—how could she not? 

He sends back a day and time. Tomorrow at noon. 

Tomorrow. Perfect, in retrospect, as Annabeth is leaving tomorrow evening. 

She’d already said her goodbyes. To Tyson, who had hugged her tight and made her swear she’d take him to get one of those New City hot dogs she's “always talking about.” She’d never once mentioned a hot dog in all her time at the palace. But she appreciates the gesture. 

And also to Estelle, who had patted Annabeth lightly on the shoulder while looking suspicious. “Did I scare you away?”

“Of course not.”

“Keep in touch,” the princess had said finally. 

She’d informed Jason that she was leaving, too. Though that was less of a goodbye and more of a see you later. She was invited to his and Piper’s wedding in the fall, and they already had plans to do dinner next week. 

She’s folding the last of her clothes into a suitcase when there’s a knock at the door. 

“Missing me already?” she teases, expecting Jason.

But it’s Percy, solemn-faced and holding out his hand. She takes it. 

“Where are we going?” she asks as they begin to walk, because he’s made no effort to start conversation. The prince doesn’t stop.

Annabeth does. Plants her feet and stands her ground even as the very confidence of his gait  _ demands  _ to be followed. She’s spent the past 9 months being led from place to place like a horse. 

“Where are we  _ going?” _

“Dungeons,” Percy answers wearily. Like this is a casual thing.

“Dungeons,” Annabeth repeats slowly. “I thought Calypso had been locked in her rooms.”

Percy looks surprised. “How did you know that?”

No way she’s selling out Jason. “I hear things.”

He frowns at her. “She  _ was  _ in her rooms. They moved her, as a security measure.”

Annabeth nods. “You mean, to where she should’ve been in the first place. You know, because she murdered someone.”

Percy flinches at the word, but Annabeth doesn’t back down. “You’ve been talking to Estelle,” he says wryly.

“No,” she corrects. “I’ve been talking to Common Sense.”

He tugs her down a flight of hidden stairs and then stops at the bottom. “What’s your deal?”

“What’s  _ yours _ ?” She rushes to get what she has to say out before she can lose her nerve. “I loved her, too! But even then I couldn’t  _ stand  _ her. And then she goes and does something like this and you, you  _ forgive  _ her. I know you guys have history, or whatever, but this weird loyalty you have to her? It doesn’t make any  _ sense. _ ”

Percy drags a hand through his hair like he wants to rip it out at the roots. “People aren’t just god and bad, Annabeth.”

“Don’t patronize me,” she snaps. “Calypso wanted you dead. And you’re sticking up for her.”

“I’m not sticking up for her—I’m trying to  _ understand  _ her! If the circumstances were different and I was in her position, who’s to say I wouldn’t have done the same?” Percy demands. 

“You  _ wouldn’t  _ have done the same.” Her voice softens. “I know you.” 

He laughs, a bitter thing that tastes coppery in Annabeth’s own mouth. “I love her,” he says simply. “Nothings ever been fair in her life, but she keeps throwing herself at it anyway. I admire that. And I love her, even if it’s not the way she wanted.” He looks at Annabeth and sighs. “You think I don’t know that love is—is fucking  _ weird _ ? I think that every single day. It’s weird and terrifying and horrible but if you don’t give in to it, it’ll eat you alive. I’m not saying I don’t hate her for what she’s done. I do. But I love her too.”

“I care about her too, you know,” Annabeth whispers.

The prince poses to argue, but then he just deflates. “It’s different.”

“Maybe,” she allows, pursing her lips. “And maybe that gives me a better perspective on the situation… I can be a little removed. You, you’re too… biased.”

He laughs again. This time it sounds more teary than anything. 

She resumes her hold on his arm, dragging him away from the staircase. 

“Annabeth, we’re going the wrong way.”

She groans, and lets him lead her to the dungeons. 

* * *

“I’m sorry you’re trapped down here, Cal,” Percy says right away.

Annabeth watches as Calypso looks between the two of them for a long minute. Her face, through the bars of the metal cell, flashes openly with emotion—hurt, betrayal. 

Annabeth is surprised by the wave of smugness that passes over her own face. She  _ wants  _ Calypso to feel hurt. She  _ wants  _ her to feel betrayed. She wishes Calypso could’ve seen the look on Percy’s face as he’d stood in Annabeth’s bedroom and cried over his best friend. Calypso doesn’t know shit about hurt and betrayal.

Calypso controls her face. “Don’t be sorry. I’m very used to being trapped places.”

“Can you just shut up?” Annabeth snaps. She waits for Calypso to bite back, or for Percy to scold her, but no one moves.

Calypso turns away from them to face the wall. “If you’re here to tell me I’m spending the rest of my life in this cell, I already know.”

“Cal…” Percy looks to Annabeth for help.

“Do you even feel bad?” Annabeth asks. 

Calypso goes on like nothing had been said. “Funny. I spend my entire life thinking I’m locked up, only to be actually locked up the minute I’m free. You know, I felt it?” She turns around to face them again, and her face is raw. “Like a shaking in my soul. I just  _ knew  _ that I could just… leave. Lie on the beach again. Hike the mountains.” 

Annabeth thinks for a second that this is cruel, that putting Calypso here is the worst possible punishment for her, that they should’ve just hung her; it’d be a mercy. They were friends once, after all. But then she thinks of Nico and grits her teeth. She’s not the only one who hadn’t got to see the beach and the mountains again. “Calypso,” Annabeth begins.

But Percy cuts her off. “Then you know what it feels like to have your life stolen from you, too.”

Calypso searches his face. Then turns back around, apparently not finding what she’d hoped. 

* * *

“My dad decided to move my coronation,” Percy announces as he walks Annabeth back to her room. “He’s giving me another year or two to be ready.”

She knows this already, so she draws her eyebrows together in confusion.

“Well, your book needs to be ready by my coronation, right?

She nods, dumbly—she’d forgotten all about that book, the reason she’d ever been here in the first place.

“So you can stay.”

Oh. Annabeth’s chest feels tight. “I’d rather not.”

He exhales. Then shakes his head. “No, I understand.”

She sighs then stirs him over to the big bay window at the end of her floor. “It’s just. I don’t know. I’m afraid of feeling trapped here?”

He looks out at the grounds. “Okay.”

She snickers at his pulled face. “That means I like you, Seaweed Brain. Maybe more than like.”

He perks up immediately.

“And,” she continues. “I have shit to do. A book to get published, remember. And maybe more things to write. I don’t know. I’m thinking a memoir, this time. At any rate, I’m tired of writing about other people. It’s time to mine my  _ own _ traumas for exploitation.”

He grins at her, that smile that makes the stars look dim. “Sick of me already, Wise Girl?”

“Yes.” Annabeth grins. “And besides, I’m sure you have some shit to do, too.” 

He looks out at the scene below him again—the grounds, government officials and palace staff and his distant cousins alike milling about. And beyond that, the acres and acres of city, and even farther lands that were all his to worry about. He blows imaginary grit off his lips. “You’re telling me.” 

“Hey, don’t worry about it.” She puts a hand on his arm. There’s a pale strip where his watch used to be, but the rest is tanned and warm and strong. “I trust you.” 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Percy’s fatal flaw is raging in this one, I know. Anyway, this is the last chapter. Only the epilogue left, now!


	26. Epilogue: Weddings

“I do,” she says.

“I do,” he repeats. 

This is what happily ever after can look like, Annabeth realizes.

Tears that she hadn’t asked for stream down her face as the officiant proclaims, “You may now kiss the bride.”

Annabeth sighs. She’s so happy her heart could burst.

Everything is perfect at the reception, too. They’d chosen a rural barn setting. As the day progressed to evening, the twinkling lights and cozy wood panels made everything feel like a warm dream.

Percy’s there, too, for some strange reason Annabeth has chalked up to Piper insisting, “I didn’t actually think he’d _come._ But hey, you break a guy’s curse...” 

All of Jason and Piper’s guests are pointedly ignoring him. Though three of Jason’s little cousins _had_ already come up to Annabeth to ask if she was “friends with the Prince because he’s really cute.”

Not exactly, Annabeth had replied. But he _is_ cute.

“Hi,” he says to her after they watch Jason and Piper dramatically feed each other cake.

“Hi.” 

Like always he is dazzling in a perfectly cut suit. His hair is longer, curling at the ends. His smile is prettier too, or maybe that’s just the rustic lighting of the wedding. “Should we dance?” 

“Duh.”

And perhaps it’s the champagne, but Annabeth is feeling “really cute,” too, in the dark green dress she’d bought for the ceremony.

“So how are you, Ms. World Famous Author?” He slides a steady hand around her waist as she locks hers around his neck. 

She grins, delighted. He’s exaggerating, but she’s glad he’s so obviously been keeping up with her. And so obviously not trying to hide it. “I’m okay. And you, Mr. World Famous...well, I guess that’s it. Mr. World Famous.”

He twirls her. “You’re very funny tonight.”

“It’s the champagne.” 

Percy twirls her again. They sway for a while. It’s been over a year since they’d even touched and yet this is the most normal thing in the world. 

When the slow song is over, they sit as Piper and Jason start to lead their family and friends in a group dance. 

“So, let me pitch you,” Percy says. 

“Pitch me? Like a story idea?”

“You’re an author right?”

Annabeth laughs. “That’s not how—”

“ _Annabeth._ Please try not to interrupt. _”_

She rolls her eyes. “Fine.”

“So there’s a girl, Silena.”

“Beauregard? Your secretary?” she interrupts. “What—”

He groans. “Let me finish.”

“Ugh.”

“There is a girl, Silena. And a boy, Charles. They get engaged. And have a wedding. Said wedding happens to be next weekend.”

“Next week,” Annabeth interrupts again. “When’s this book take place?”

“For pitching purposes, let’s say… .hmm, present day. And these people—”

“—yes, the made-up book characters—”

" _These people_ invite a certain Prince of...Somewhere...to their destination wedding. In France. Conveniently, The Prince of Somewhere—”

“His Royal Dumbass,” Annabeth snorts.

“Has a...kingly...friend he could stay with while attending their wedding. Except there’s a problem. He has to bring a plus one. And there’s this girl, a side protagonist—”

Annabeth gasps. “Excuse me, _main_ protagonist.”

“Fine. _Co-_ protagonist, who is beautiful and smart and funny and takes just as little of the prince’s shit as he remembers. Does she go to the wedding with him?” he finishes hopefully. 

Annabeth, curse her, is blushing. It’s the champagne, she tells herself. “That was not at all how pitching works.”

“Annabeth,” Percy sighs. “It’s my first time. Take it easy on me.”

“That, I cannot do.” She replies. She’s joking, but leave it to Percy to detect the serious, slightly nervous undertone in her words.

“I know. I don’t want easy.”

Triumphant, she says, “Perseus Jackson. Stop pussying around and ask me on this date.”

“Date? I was thinking more of a romantic, filthy sex-filled, fun adventure getaway at Versailles—”

“Percy!”

He takes her hand. “Annabeth Chase, will be my plus one to the Beauregard-Beckendorf wedding?”

Annabeth puts her free hand over her mouth. “Beauregard-Beckendorf? You’re kidding me, right?”

Percy grins. “It’s love, Annabeth. You can’t control who the heart chooses.”

“You’re right.”

“I am?”

“Yes. I _am_ beautiful and smart and funny. And not taking any of your shit.”

He groans. “Say yes.”

“Say, please.”

“Please.”

“Yes.”

So they go to France. 

(And it’s romantic.)

(Filthy sex-filled.)

(Adventurous and fun.)

And of course, there’s shit to deal with when they come back. Namely, Percy becoming King of a large country. Annabeth becoming a writer in her own right. Piles of trauma and fear from the past that creep up even on the better days. Piper and Jason complaining that, “We _know_ you guys ditched our wedding early to fuck.” 

But they’ll deal. 

They trust each other. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> La fin!  
> While I'm aware this was not the most eloquent or well-developed of stories, it felt really good to finish something this long again, and even better to have all the support I had while I wrote. Thank you all, genuinely, if you ever left a comment or kudos. I'm SO appreciative. 
> 
> That being said...Two things.
> 
> Firstly, I don't think I've ever said but the title of this story was inspired by a song called "The Halocline," by Hippo Campus, if anyone is interested in giving it a listen. (Not an actual halocline. Lol.) 
> 
> Secondly, as I finished this last chapter, I realized that the story isn't anywhere near done. Annabeth has just barely found her voice, Percy still hasn't been coronated, and their relationship has only just begun...Sequel? I'd love to hear if anyone's interested.
> 
> Merci beaucoup, guys. Really.


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